


The Sentinel of Peru

by elaine



Category: The Pretender, The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 54,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr Blair Sandburg goes in search of a sentinel. What he finds will change his life - and the sentinel's - forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a pretty common attitude in Sentinel fandom that William Ellison was wrong to force young Jimmy to repress his senses. But what if he was right? And what if Jimmy's refusal to submit led to disastrous consequences?
> 
> Many thanks to PsychGirl for the beta. All remaining errors are my own.

“Five million  _fucking_  mosquitoes, and every last one of them is after my blood.” Professor of Anthropology, Dr Blair Sandburg waved a hand futilely through the cloud of mosquitoes hovering in front of his face. Thank god he'd packed the quinine tablets and the insect repellent.  
  
His guide, Carlito, smiled with false sympathy. “They always seem to like the foreigners, señor. Fresh blood, eh?”  
  
“Yeah.” He was beginning to regret this decision. He should have just packed up and gone home with the rest of the team; but no, the merest hint that his own personal holy grail might actually be in the vicinity – if you can call fifty miles of dense jungle 'in the vicinity' – and he was off, hot on the trail, with all the predictability of one of Pavlov's better trained dogs. “You're sure about this, man? Have you actually seen him?”   
  
“No, señor.” The smile widened into a grin. “But my sister's husband's second cousin swears it is true.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Blair sighed, but he kept on walking. The whole thing was going to turn out to be a crock. He really had to get therapy, get over the disappointment of not finding a sentinel to study for his doctoral dissertation, and move the hell on.  
  
Sure, he'd documented historical cases, even found a few people with one or two heightened senses, but never a full-blown sentinel with all five heightened senses. Somehow he'd managed to make a defensible thesis out of these meagre offerings. He'd got his doctorate, but it all felt like a sham without a real sentinel to prove the validity of his research. He knew he wasn't the only person at Rainier University to think so, either.  
  
“We're nearly there, señor. Another hour, or two at the most.” Perhaps sensing that Blair was close to giving up, Carlito injected a note of encouragement into his voice. Maybe, Blair thought cynically, he was afraid he wouldn't get paid.  
  
After all, how likely was it that a sentinel just happened to be living in this particular area of Peru? Over the years, Blair had investigated so many possible candidates, travelling huge distances sometimes, and yet here one was, where he just happened to be, on a two month expedition to one of the remotest regions of Peru to study the effects of rainforest logging on the indigenous cultures of the area. Sure. And, by the way, was that a pig flying overhead?  
  
Even crazier, Carlito's sister's husband's second cousin had claimed that the sentinel was a white man – a Yanqui who was a healer, not a warrior. Nowhere in any document, even the most obscure, was such a thing recorded. From Burton's monograph to the most fragmentary scraps of folkloric tales, sentinels were always warriors, protectors of their tribe. The whole thing was insane, and Blair himself doubly so for falling for this scam. This guy, if he even existed, was undoubtedly a logger or mercenary gone native.  
  
With another longsuffering sigh, Blair hitched his backpack a little more comfortably on his shoulders and spared a grateful thought for Domingo and Sebastian who carried the bulk of his gear. All he had in his pack were his notes, reading glasses, a camera and tape recorder, and basic supplies. Enrique and Carlito were both guide and bodyguard combined. It would have been suicide to venture this far into the jungle without the protection of an armed guard.  
  
As though his thoughts were prophetic, Blair became aware of a sudden increase in tension among his companions. He looked at Carlito questioningly, knowing better than to ask aloud.  
  
“Señor, do not make any sudden moves.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper. “Stay close.”  
  
The small group closed up a little, and they continued along the narrow path, barely visible to Blair's untrained eye. Ahead, he could see a rock outcrop, where the trees grew more thinly. It would be a perfect place for an ambush. He leaned over to speak softly into Carlito's ear. “Should we turn back?”  
  
“No. That would be seen as weakness.” Carlito was sweating more than could be accounted for by the heat and humidity. “They would simply pick us off. If we continue they will challenge us. Then we must show them we are not to be taken lightly.”  
  
“I don't want any violence.” Even at the slower pace, they had arrived now at the rocky area. It was worse than he'd realised – on one side were trees, on the other a steep drop of about forty feet. By the time they'd negotiated their way past it and entered the densely packed jungle again, he was breathless and more jumpy than ever. His guardians were clutching at their weapons and looking around nervously.  
  
The attack came only minutes later, with no warning. There was a faint whistling sound and Domingo, just a pace or two behind Blair, dropped, a long arrow protruding from his chest. The others began shooting into the jungle, though there were no targets to be seen. Obedient to Carlito's earlier instructions, Blair dropped to the ground, out of the way, and found himself lying beside the dead man.  
  
“Oh god! Oh man, this is  _not_  how I saw myself dying.” He flinched as an arrow struck the ground only a few inches away. “I'm meant to be old, and… and famous, and in my fucking  _bed_ , godamnit.”  
  
Enrique's large hand hauled him to his feet. “Run, señor. Back the way we came. Come on!”  
  
Blair stumbled alongside the guide, who fell back a little. Domingo was dead; Carlito and Sebastian were already well ahead of him on the faint trail, their burdens cast into the undergrowth on either side. Sheer terror kept him going. He'd been in some tricky situations in the past, and talked his way out of them, but how could he talk to this anonymous enemy? A choked cry behind him and the crash of Enrique's body hitting the earth spurred him on, even though he'd already given himself up for dead.  
  
The other men ahead of him had disappeared. Either they'd lost the trail, or got away, or been dragged off the track and killed. Blair had no idea, and no time to think about it. He'd reached the outcrop now, and when an arrow whizzed past his shoulder, he took a chance and dropped to his knees at the edge of the small cliff.  
  
There was no time to look, he lowered himself hurriedly over the edge and began to climb down. If he was really lucky, he'd find something he could shelter behind. If he was unlucky… his foot slipped and suddenly he was hanging with just a fingerhold on the rock above his head. His free hand flailed for another hold and found nothing, his feet could find no purchase either. There was only time for a second's blind panic and then he was falling, bouncing off one boulder, then another, and another before hitting the ground with a solid thump.  
  
Excruciating pain held him fast. Blair could neither move, nor breathe, and it was probably that which saved his life. He could hear, though – the soft laughter and contemptuous tones of the men who had attacked his small party, before they moved away, their voices rapidly fading into the distance. Or maybe he just fainted.  
  
***  
  
Pain. It advanced and receded in nauseating waves. Blair couldn't remember when he'd last felt such pain; certainly not since he'd fallen out of Mrs Danwich's tree and broken his arm. Maybe not even then. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids felt heavy and warm and… and  _moist_ … there was something lying on top of his eyes. He frowned and turned his head to escape it, and that was a  _big_  mistake, because it hurt so much he nearly passed out.  
  
“Enqueri!” There was movement beside him. “Enqueri! He wakes.”  
  
It was a child's voice, Blair realised through the pain of his movement, and speaking in Quechua. Had their attackers taken him prisoner? In that case would he be held for ransom, or simply killed? At the moment death was the more attractive proposition.  
  
The thing weighing down his eyelids was removed, but Blair was reluctant to open his eyes until he realised it had been a damp cloth. For some reason it cheered him that they had at least tried to make him comfortable. He opened his eyes, and instantly regretted it.  
  
“Don't move. Your head is injured. Also your leg and five ribs are broken.” The cloth was replaced, pleasantly cool now. It didn't help much. Blair thought longingly of the painkillers in his medical kit.  
  
“Hurts.” If he'd felt even a little better Blair would have been ashamed of the pathetic whimper. Right now, he didn't give a damn.  
  
“When your head is better I will give you herbs for the pain.” The voice was gentle, soothing. A large hand rested lightly on his shoulder for a moment, and Blair found the touch infinitely comforting.  
  
Oh yeah. Concussion. He'd had that once before, and it hadn't been any fun. Blair frowned. What was it he needed to do? Then it came to him. “My name is Blair Sandburg. Uh… Clinton is the…” what was the word for President in Quechua? Did they even have one? He wasn't  _that_  fluent in the language. “… the Presidente. I don't know what day it is. Is that bad?”  
  
“I don't know.” The voice was amused. “What is clin ton?”  
  
Blair managed to lift his hand – to his huge relief – and pulled the cloth away from his eyes. This time he was prepared and had his eyes scrunched up against the light. He found himself staring up into a pair of the bluest, most crystal clear eyes he'd ever seen, set in a face that was certainly tanned, but to nowhere near the depth of bronze that typified the indigenous people of this region. He blinked. “Who  _are_  you?”  
  
“I am Enqueri.” The cloth was firmly replaced over Blair's eyes. “I am the healer for the Chopec. And you will rest.”  
  
***  
  
The next time Blair woke, it was only marginally more pleasant. His head ached fiercely, he was feverish, his leg throbbed, and it hurt when he took too deep a breath. To add to the misery, his bladder was screaming for relief and he had no way of doing anything about it, other than pissing in his bed. However makeshift that was, Blair had no desire to lie in a puddle of his own making.  
  
It wasn't long before he heard someone make a faint tutting sound and a gentle hand touched his cheek. “Open your eyes.”  
  
Obediently, Blair complied. He was in a hut, he now realised, and it must be late evening or early morning because the light was distinctly faded and the air was relatively cool against his heated skin. Cool enough that he was glad of the light cloth that lay across his naked body. He looked up into a face that looked nothing like a South American Indian, and remembered the clear blue eyes he'd seen earlier. This was the man that Carlito had told him about. Carlito… oh god…  
  
The man, Enqueri, frowned at the sound of pain he made. Blair struggled to gather his strength and wits. “The others… are any… are they…”  
  
“No. You alone survived.” There was a hint of approval in Enqueri's face. “The hunting party found two others dead.”  
  
“There were five of us.” Blair swallowed his tears as best he could. He'd brought those men here, to their deaths. He was responsible. “It wasn't your people?”  
  
Enqueri shook his head. “We heard the shooting. When we arrived there were only bodies. Then I heard you.”  
  
“You saved my life. Thank you.” Blair studied the other man curiously.   
  
It seemed that Carlito's tale, however unlikely, was true. Enqueri was undoubtedly of European descent, but was dressed, or rather  _undressed_ , like many indigenous males, in nothing more than a very brief loincloth. His hair was long, falling past his shoulders, braided at the sides while it appeared to hang loose at the back. His hairline was obviously receding, revealing a pronounced widow's peak, a rarity among Indian men. Interestingly, he wore no painted markings on his face or body, indicating he was not considered a warrior. But if he was a healer, then he was probably too important to the tribe to risk in warfare.  
  
He realised suddenly that his scrutiny was being returned. Enqueri lifted a strand of Blair's shoulder length hair and twisted the curls around one finger. He smiled suddenly. “Curly. Like a vine.”  
  
“Yeah. And it's a bitch to keep under control in this humidity.” Unconsciously, he spoke in English, not realising it until Enqueri frowned. “You don't speak English, huh? Habla Espanõl? Sprechen zie Deutsch?”  
  
Blank incomprehension met each attempt and Blair was too exhausted and in too much pain to try very hard. He closed his eyes with a sigh.   
  
“You are in pain? In your head?”  
  
“Everywhere, man.” Blair wallowed in misery for a few moments before forcing himself to deal with his most pressing need. “And I  _really_  gotta pee.”   
  
“Ah.” Enqueri moved away for a moment, and returned holding a small gourd. “Here.”  
  
Too desperate to be embarrassed, Blair reached for the gourd, but his hand was shaking so badly he might as well not have bothered. Besides, just trying to lift his head caused a jab of pain that made him swear under his breath. There was no way he was going to be able to manage this on his own.  
  
Enqueri grinned. “I'll hold it.”  
  
He didn't elaborate on what he was offering to hold, and Blair didn't ask. At this point he was prepared to take whatever help he could get. “Thanks.”  
  
Blair closed his eyes as the cloth was lifted away and a gentle hand lifted his cock and guided it into the opening of the gourd. Then his body's instincts took over and he felt the piss gushing out of him like a dam had burst. He groaned, half in pleasure, half in pain and when it was over, relaxed with a faint sigh.  
  
As long as he lay still and didn't breathe too deeply, Blair discovered that the pain quickly dulled to a persistent ache. Not pleasant, not at all; but better than the stabbing pains that assaulted him the moment he overstepped the boundaries his injuries had imposed on him.  
  
He could hear Enqueri move away and return, and felt with real pleasure a damp cloth being wiped over his sweaty, grimy body. When it reached his genitals, there was a pause, then the brush of skin over the tip of his cock. Startled, Blair opened his eyes a fraction to see Enqueri first sniff, then touch his tongue to the drop of urine on his fingertip. He nodded, as if satisfied, then returned to his cleansing of Blair's body.  
  
Despite the pain of having to roll onto his uninjured side, Blair felt a lot better once the bed bath was completed and the light cover laid over him again. Enough for him to think hopefully about falling asleep again. But Enqueri had other ideas. A hand slipped under his head and a small bowl of strong smelling liquid was held to his lips.  
  
He swallowed automatically as some of the extremely bitter fluid was spilt into his mouth. “God, that's awful. What is it?”  
  
“Herbs to dull the pain, ease the fever, and to help your bones to heal.” Enqueri pressed the bowl against his lips again. “Now drink. All of it.”  
  
Dulling the pain sounded good, and he was so damn thirsty, he'd drink just about anything. Repressing a shudder, Blair drained the bowl and let himself sink down into the unyielding surface of his bed. Soon the pain had eased to a sullen murmur and he was able to drift into sleep.  
  
***  
  
There were arrows everywhere, darkening the sky, and the whistling sound they made was all that he could hear. Blair tried to run, but his legs were heavy as lead and his lungs were burning from the effort of just trying to move. He stood, helpless to do anything to protect himself as the warriors, their faces and bodies daubed with glistening blood red paint, surrounded him. He moaned, a futile rejection of the fate that awaited him, and tried to lift a heavy arm to protect his head.  
  
“Pelair.” Enqueri's voice made him shudder. It was what he'd feared; the healer was in league with his attackers. “Pelair.”  
  
“No!” Blair flinched and was suddenly awake. God, he hurt. Every gasping breath sent stabbing pains through his chest, his head and leg were throbbing unmercifully. His arm, he realised, was held in a firm, gentle grip.  
  
“Breathe slowly. It was a fever dream, no more.” When Blair relaxed a little, Enqueri released his arm and instead began to wipe a cool, damp cloth over his forehead. “Let your body go limp, Pelair.”   
  
Blair tried to obey, but the adrenaline rush from his nightmare was still setting his blood racing. He knew from long experience that he wouldn't be able to simply relax; he would need some kind of distraction. “What's a pelair?”  
  
Enqueri looked confused. “Isn't that your name?” He began to wipe down Blair's chest, and Blair sighed with relief at the cool sensation.  
  
“My name is Blair. Blair.” He emphasised the 'b' sound.  
  
Enqueri frowned. “Pelair?”  
  
“No. Listen carefully… damn, I forgot. Quechua doesn't have a 'b' sound, does it?” Blair caught hold of Enqueri's wrist. Suddenly, it seemed very important that his name was pronounced properly. “It's Blair. B-lair.” He made the 'b' sound a few more times for good measure. “Now you try it.”  
  
After a few stuttering attempts Enqueri managed something between a 'p' and a 'b' sound. He smiled and Blair grinned in light-headed relief. “Now, say Blair.” He drew out the sounds, exaggerating them as he might have for a child.  
  
“B… belair.” Another frown. He'd obviously got the sound right in his head, but was having trouble forming the word in his mouth. The cloth hung limply in his hand, his ministrations forgotten for the moment. “B'lair.”  
  
“Almost. You're nearly there, just run the sounds together.”  
  
“B'lair.” This time the hesitation between the 'b' and the 'l' was noticeably less. Then Enqueri grinned. “Blair.”  
  
“Yes! Ow!” In his enthusiasm, Blair took too deep a breath and his broken ribs protested. “You did it!”  
  
Enqueri pressed his lips together sternly, but the corners quivered slightly. “You must be quiet. You need to rest to heal.”  
  
In fact, the brief exchange had exhausted Blair. He could feel the fever rising again and closed his eyes with a soft groan. “I'll be good.”  
  
By the time Enqueri had finished wiping him down, he was almost asleep, in spite of the aches and pains of his body. Enqueri raised his head enough to administer the bitter herbal brew and then a couple of mouthfuls of sweet fruit juice, which Blair gulped down with a sigh of pleasure.  
  
“Thank you.” Blair's eyes drifted closed. A hand stroked his hair lightly and he smiled.  
  
***   
  
Three, maybe four days passed almost unnoticed. Whenever Blair woke Enqueri was there, or one of the children who acted as his assistants. Even then, the healer was always within earshot, for he appeared almost immediately when called.  
  
At first Blair was too ill to care that a complete stranger was taking care of his most intimate needs, and by the time his fever had passed and his head no longer ached constantly, it seemed a bit too late to start worrying about his modesty. Still, it was a great day when Enqueri brought his torn but clean clothing and helped him to dress.  
  
There was no hint that the healer recognised, or knew what to do with the various items of clothing. He fumbled with the buttons, frowning, and then left them to Blair to deal with. The socks and boots seemed to amuse him. He looked disappointed, though, when Blair tied back his hair into a ponytail. The curliness of Blair's hair seemed to fascinate him, and he'd taken to calling Blair 'Chaska', meaning curly, on occasion.   
  
Someone had fashioned a crutch out of a stout branch, although it was a little too short for Blair's comfort and his ribs hurt too much for him to use it for very long. Still, it was a lot better than sitting in Enqueri's hut for the next few weeks while his leg healed. With Enqueri hovering protectively at his side, Blair ventured out into the village.  
  
Immediately they were surrounded by a small horde of naked and near-naked children. Elderly gap-toothed women grinned and gestured at him, calling out comments so obviously colloquial that Blair had no hope of understanding them. It was apparent that Enqueri did. He flushed slightly, but responded with good-natured resignation, provoking laughter from the old women and squeals from the children. Then they were firmly ordered away as Blair made his unsteady progress towards the women. If he wanted to learn about the tribe, and he certainly did, then this was an excellent place to start. He also suspected it was the only way he was going to find out what they'd said to fluster the imperturbable healer.  
  
First, though, he had to submit to a thorough inspection by the older women; his blue eyes were exclaimed over – did all Yanquis have eyes the colour of the sky? – and his hair released from its ponytail so the curls could be examined and tweaked. Strangest of all, apparently, was his chest hair, which none of the women had ever seen before. One of the children set off squeals of laughter by asking if he was part monkey.   
  
He was no stranger to this kind of curiosity. It wasn't the first time he'd been the first white man an isolated tribe had encountered, and even though he obviously wasn't the first here, the differences between his own body shape and Enqueri's must be startling to these people, who were accustomed to the more homogenous physical characteristics of their own people.  
  
Still, he gently put a stop to the examination when an old crone with a gleeful glint in her eyes reached for his shorts with the stated intention of discovering whether he was hairy “everywhere”. She cackled mightily when he promised to show her later, when they could be alone; thankfully it worked, and she backed off, with what was undoubtedly a ribald comment. This set off all the women and older girls into helpless laughter, while the children squealed with delight.   
  
When the furore died down, Blair settled himself more comfortably and got down to some serious gossip.  
  
***  
  
It seemed that a scouting party, led by Enqueri, had rescued him. They'd been keeping a watch out for the incursion of a rival tribe into their territory – the natives who'd attacked Blair's group. Now most of the men had gone again, one group to further track the intruders, the other on a much-needed hunt. But this time, without Enqueri to help, the success of either party was no longer guaranteed.   
  
The background chatter faded suddenly and a withering glance was directed at Maywa, one of the youngest among the women, who had been the one to let this scrap of information fall. The almost toothless old crone who'd so quickly quelled the young woman turned a bland face to Blair. “Enqueri is our healer, not a warrior. The girl is foolish.”  
  
Enqueri, at the moment, was nowhere to be seen, but Blair lowered his voice anyway. Blair had noticed over the last few days that Enqueri always appeared within moments of his waking, and the healer couldn't have been sitting just outside his hut  _all_  the time. “Does Enqueri see and hear better than other men?”   
  
“Who's to say?” The old woman shrugged dismissively. “He's a good healer. That's all that matters.”  
  
Blair smiled peaceably and began a long, involved story about the time he'd spent among the Kombai tree people of Irian Jaya, drawing snorts of disbelief from the older women and awed silence from the children. He hadn't really expected to learn much so soon. If Enqueri really was a sentinel the tribe would not willingly give away his secret to a stranger. He would have to earn their trust first.  
  
Sometime in the early afternoon, Enqueri reappeared and extracted Blair from among the crowd of children he was entertaining with the story – suitably edited – of the brave warriors Luke Skywalker and Han Solo, and the beautiful daughter of the tribal leader, Princess Leia.  
  
“The scouting party will return before nightfall, and Incacha will want to talk to you.” Enqueri lifted Blair to his feet with one hand hooked under his armpit, then steadied him while he got his balance. “You should rest now.”  
  
“Okay.” Actually Blair was feeling pretty tired. An afternoon nap would suit him just fine. He nodded respectfully to the old women and grinned at the girls and children before turning to hobble towards Enqueri's hut.   
  
After several hours of refreshing his command of Quechua, he could now understand some of the comments called out to Enqueri. Well enough, at any rate, to understand why Enqueri was blushing, and to raise the heat in his own face. Interesting though… it seemed the Chopec had no taboos against homosexuality; he wondered if Enqueri really swung that way, and whether he'd be interested in a short, hairy, anthropologist.  
  
***  
  
Incacha, Blair already knew, was the shaman of the village. In some ways that made him even more important than the headman, so it was with some trepidation that Blair came out of Enqueri's hut after the initial excitement of the scouting party's return had died down. The knot of people was already starting to disperse and Blair could see Enqueri talking to one of the men, dressed as the rest of the returned party were, in a kilt of bright, woven cloth wrapped around his hips and tied with a braided cord. It had to be Incacha. He took a deep breath and began to make his way, cautiously, toward the two men.   
  
Although he'd appeared to be engrossed in conversation, Enqueri's head lifted and turned towards Blair almost immediately. He smiled slightly and lifted his hand in a beckoning motion, then, as Blair came closer, walked over to meet him and guide him through the gauntlet of over-excited children scurrying around his feet. Blair was aware of the curious and not always friendly attention of the returned warriors, and it was a relief to have Enqueri's presence at his side.  
  
As they reached the shaman, Enqueri released Blair and stepped aside. He steadied himself as best he could and waited for Incacha to speak first. He was young, for a shaman, probably not much older than Enqueri. The women had told him that Incacha was the son of the previous shaman, and that probably went some way to explaining it, but Blair had no doubt that nepotism had little to do with Incacha's current position. He could feel the spiritual aura of the man, like electricity dancing over his skin, even from the distance of several feet. Close up, it was almost overwhelming.  
  
They stood, not speaking, for several minutes; then Incacha nodded, as if satisfied by what he saw, and the sensation eased to a tickle along Blair's nerve endings. Incacha grinned. It made him look even younger. “So. You have power.”  
  
“Me? No!” Blair blinked in surprise. “I'm just an ordinary guy. A teacher.”  
  
That earned him a sceptical look, then Incacha called to one of his warriors and the young man came forward with a familiar looking object. “This is yours? You have objects of power in this bag.”  
  
So that was it. Blair stifled a sigh of relief. “They're not magic. They're just…” he hesitated, searching for a way to explain the meaning of a camera and a miniature tape recorder to someone who'd never seen either. Or even, for that matter, a ballpoint pen. “…just tools. They have no magic. No power.”  
  
“Show me.” The quiet voice gave nothing away.  
  
“Sure.” Blair ducked his head, a sign of submission in almost any culture. “Uh… can I sit down? I'm not very steady…”  
  
Incacha made a gesture and a couple of older children brought over a piece of log for Blair to sit on. He opened the backpack with shaking hands. He'd never hoped to see it again. The camera, however, was obviously broken beyond repair. When he lifted it, he could hear the shifting of broken glass inside. The mirror had obviously been smashed in the fall. Maybe he'd be able to salvage some of the film inside, but he wouldn't be taking any more photos for a while.  
  
“This is broken.” Blair let all the disappointment he felt show on his face. “It's a tool for making pictures, but it's no good now.” He rummaged a little further in the bag and drew out a sketchpad. He was no artist, but there were a few sketches of medicinal plants that Incacha would probably recognise and one of the chief of the tribe he'd been studying before he'd started this little side trip. “It makes pictures, like these, only better.”  
  
Both Incacha and Enqueri examined the sketch intently, but the healer showed no sign of ever having seen such a thing before. Blair hunted in the pack again. To his relief, his glasses were still intact. He could manage without them for most things, but he'd need them if he wanted to keep notes that would be readable later. The tape recorder was working, too, though how much longer the batteries would last he had no real idea.  
  
“This makes a copy of your voice and then you can listen to it.” Blair spoke into the tiny microphone, then pressed rewind and played it back. His voice sounded tinny, but it obviously impressed the shaman, and some of the villagers drew back in alarm. He held it out to Incacha. “Here, you do it.”  
  
Incacha glanced up at Enqueri, who shrugged. His face betrayed no concern, but no recognition either. “What kind of magic is this?”   
  
Blair shrugged helplessly. “It's not magic. But I don't know how it works, exactly. There's a little tape inside and the sound of your voice is copied onto the tape. I use it to record stories and lore so I can remember it later.” He played Incacha's voice back and the shaman looked both startled and impressed. “That's all I have in this bag. Did you find any other bags? Like this one, but bigger?”  
  
The shaman shook his head. “The raiding party must have taken them.”  
  
Damn. He had his notes, which was the most important thing of course, but right now, he'd have given almost anything for a clean pair of underwear.  
  
***  
  
Even with the makeshift crutch, Blair wasn't exactly mobile. He could manage the area around the huts and the well-trodden path to the latrines, but the other paths that led in and out of the village were too narrow and uneven for him to negotiate. Since his leg ached like a bitch whenever he stood for too long it wasn't a big problem – he wasn't going anywhere any time soon – but he would have liked to go down to the river where the others went to bathe. Washing himself down with a rag and a gourd of tepid water wasn't particularly effective. His skin was starting to crawl (not literally, he hoped) and his hair hung in greasy, gritty strands whenever he loosed it from the ponytail.  
  
He mentioned it to Enqueri, shrugging and smiling apologetically at the discomfort he assumed the healer was experiencing from living with such a ripe odour.  
  
Enqueri studied his face for a moment then shrugged casually. “I don't mind it, Chaska. You don't smell bad.”  
  
For a moment his belief that the healer had sentinel abilities was shaken, then he blushed at the implication that Enqueri actually  _liked_  the way he smelled. All along, he'd felt a vibe between them, but Enqueri had never by so much as a glance given any indication that he felt it too. Blair felt his dick stir hopefully and saw Enqueri's head tilt slightly and his nostrils flare. Jesus! That was… scary. And a huge turn on.  
  
“I… uh, I think I'll go lie down for a while. My leg's starting to ache again.” Blair waited for Enqueri's nod before turning in the direction of their hut. So, the healer was interested. He had to think about this. He wasn't exactly engaged in a serious study, but there were still ethical considerations. He couldn't just jump anybody who showed a friendly interest.   
  
That Enqueri was not native to Peru didn't change anything here. He was a part of the tribe, and when Blair left… god, would it be possible to take Enqueri with him? Could he find some way to get him into the States? The thought was an enticing one – his own sentinel… and here he stopped in his tracks. What the fuck was he thinking? Enqueri wasn't his own personal toy. He had a home, family, a place where he belonged; what right did Blair have to uproot him from that, take him to an unfamiliar and probably frightening place where he'd be entirely dependent on Blair?  
  
He had a sudden vision of himself parading Enqueri in front of a lecture hall full of academics like some circus freak. Oh yeah, that would go down well with his peers. For a moment Blair was disgusted with himself. He ducked his head to go through the low entrance into the hut then dropped onto his pallet, jarring his leg in the process. Gritting his teeth against a flare of pain, he closed his eyes and tried to silence his inner critic. Okay, so he'd been tempted for a moment. He wouldn't actually  _do_  it. Couldn't. Not to anyone. But especially not to Enqueri.  
  
***  
  
A brief, restless sleep didn't help much. Blair woke feeling even more grimy and uncomfortable than before. Immediately, the doorway darkened as Enqueri popped his head inside the hut.  
  
“You're awake. Good.” He came inside and picked up a couple of small objects – Blair couldn't see what, hidden as they were by Enqueri's body – and then went back to the doorway. “Come with me.”  
  
When he got outside, Blair saw that the healer was holding a washrag and the small bowl he used to store the slippery goo the Chopec used to wash themselves. He tried not to look too hopeful as Enqueri grinned.  
  
“But, I can't…”  
  
“I can carry you,” Enqueri interrupted. “You should have told me sooner.”  
  
The prospect of a real bath, even if in a river, was far too enticing for Blair to raise any further objections. He followed Enqueri as best he could then submitted to being carried on his back when the path got too difficult for him. It was more than a little embarrassing to be wrapped around that strong body, his chest and belly and groin pressed up against Enqueri's bare back. Blair closed his eyes and concentrated on not losing his grip and not allowing his body to betray him.  
  
By the time they reached the river Blair's still healing ribs ached with the strain on his upper body, his dick was defying his best efforts at self-control, and he was more than ready to dismount. Enqueri handed him the crutch silently, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “You'll need help in the river, Chaska.”  
  
Blair stared at the slowly moving water dubiously. It looked deep, and not altogether clean. There could be stronger currents just under the surface and he was hardly in a position to swim with cracked ribs and a broken leg splinted with pieces of wood.  
  
“Is it safe?”  
  
“Of course.” Enqueri smiled blandly and stripped off the leather pouch. He tossed it aside then ran the two steps to the river's bank before throwing himself into the water in a shallow dive. He resurfaced a couple of yards out, standing thigh deep, his long hair clinging to his face and shoulders. “Take off your clothes. I'll wash them for you later.”  
  
And who could resist an invitation like that? Blair hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, which was becoming more disreputable by the day, and then eased himself to the ground so he could struggle out of his shorts.  
  
By the time he was ready, Enqueri was squatting at his side. He helped Blair rise and hobble to the edge. “I'll get in first and steady you.”  
  
“Okay.” Blair told himself he was perfectly safe. Enqueri wouldn't let him fall, or drown if he did, but it still took an effort of will to entrust himself to those steady hands as he eased first his splinted leg, then the healthy one, into the water.  
  
With Enqueri's arm around his waist to guide him, Blair ventured deeper into the water, then sank happily up to his neck, floating in place while Enqueri went back to the riverbank to fetch the 'soap' and washrag.   
  
He ducked his head under the water long enough to soak his hair, then lathered it thoroughly before rinsing it. To wash his body, however, he needed to stand. Enqueri came to his aid, wrapping one arm around his waist and easing into his back so Blair could lean against his solidity as he scrubbed his body with the tattered piece of cloth.  
  
It felt so good to be clean again that Blair almost forgot to be embarrassed – until, that is, he realised that the faint, teasing sensation he felt was Enqueri's cock brushing against the skin of his hip. And, god, how was he supposed to not react to that? Or to Enqueri's hand removing the washrag from his suddenly numb fingers?  
  
“I'll wash your back, Chaska.” There was just a hint of amusement in Enqueri's voice. He steadied Blair with one hand while he slid the soapy cloth across Blair's back, down the curve of his spine and over his buttocks. When it stroked gently between his legs, Blair gasped – or maybe groaned, he couldn't be sure – and closed his eyes.  
  
Enqueri's hands pressed him down and Blair sank into the water, allowing it to carry away the scant lather from the soapy goo. He ducked his head under a couple of times then allowed Enqueri to lead him back to the bank and lift him high enough to sit on the edge with his legs dangling in the water.  
  
“Pass me your clothes.” Enqueri took the grubby, sweaty bundle and waded out into the river again and Blair, not bothering to get upright, dragged himself away from the edge and lay face down on the grass trying to regain some measure of composure.  
  
He hadn't attained any noticeable success when he heard a splash and a grunt from Enqueri as he returned to the bank. Peeking out from the sanctuary of his crossed arms, Blair saw the healer lay out his clothes on a large rock. In this heat, they'd be dry in no time at all. Blair thought longingly of the chilly weather that would be in Cascade around now and wished for something that would cool the fire in his groin.  
  
When Enqueri dropped down beside him, Blair's breath caught in his throat. He wanted Enqueri to make a move, but the thought frightened him almost as much as it enthralled him. He waited. And waited. But it seemed Enqueri was in no hurry. Blair could hear his breathing, calm and unhurried, could almost feel the heat of his body across the inches that separated them.  
  
“So… uh, how long, do you think, before I'll be able to… uh, travel?” He realised the implication the moment the words left his mouth:  _Be careful. I won't be staying._  He wasn't sure who he was warning, himself or Enqueri.   
  
The silence seemed to envelop him, stifling his question. He could hardly breathe.  
  
“One month until I can take off the splints.” Enqueri spoke with a calmness that no longer held any warmth. “Another, at least, until your leg is strong enough to walk far. It's four, five days south east to the nearest safe village.”  
  
Two months? He'd already been here nearly three weeks, as best he could work out. Still, Enqueri was right. It would take time to build up the strength in his leg.  
  
“Then there'll be the rains,” the quiet voice continued. “And you can't travel alone, so you will need Mallku's permission to take some of the warriors with you. If there is fighting, you can't go until it is safe, since the warriors will be gone eight days, or longer.”  
  
Strangely, the tightness in his chest eased a little. “It could be a long time, then.”  
  
Enqueri grunted softly. “It could be.”  
  
***  
  
Blair watched as a gaggle of children aged around seven or eight crouched in a circle around Enqueri. He was passing around leaves of various sizes and shapes, which the children studied and returned. Then, with a quiet command, the healer released the children, who ran off in various directions into the forest. Enqueri rose and, throwing a brief glance in Blair's direction, smiled at him before turning away.  
  
A lewd cackle from behind him drew Blair's attention away from the tall figure. “If I had a handful fewer years, I'd give you challenge for that one.”  
  
Blair grinned cheerfully at the wizened face of his would-be competitor. It was hard to imagine that Yachay had ever been young, and certainly not as recently as five years ago. “If you had, I'd be afraid to accept.”  
  
A gapped tooth leer greeted his response. “Maybe so, although that one never had much interest in women, more's the pity.”  
  
“How else could he have resisted your charms?” Blair joked. He looked over at Enqueri again, checking that the healer was far enough away that he wouldn't easily overhear their conversation. It was a futile gesture, since he had no idea how sensitive Enqueri's hearing might be, but it satisfied his more cautious impulses. “Tell me about him.”  
  
“What's there to tell?” Yachay arranged her wrinkles into an expression of limpid innocence – unconvincing to anyone who knew her half as well as Blair did. “He's a man like any other.”  
  
“How did he come here?” Blair leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “When did he come? Was he…?”  
  
She held up her hand, grinning. “Always questions, Pelair. We should call you Apurimaq. You're worse even than the little ones. Do you never tire of them?”  
  
“Never.” Blair laughed at the name – talkative, it meant. A fair enough description, he supposed. “It's what I do – ask questions.”  
  
“Ah, a shaman. Incacha said it was so.” She nodded sagely, then spoiled the effect with a wicked chuckle. “And it's not for any other reason that you have so much interest in Enqueri… eh, Chaska?”  
  
Blair shrugged, heat rising into his face at her use of the nickname only Enqueri used. The old women teased him mercilessly about Enqueri. He'd almost gotten used to it. “I'm curious. I've never seen a Yanqui living with a tribe before. He says he has no memory of the time before he came to you.”  
  
Yachay sobered, nodding. “He was young. Old enough to be a warrior, but barely.”  
  
That would put Enqueri in his early teens. Blair nodded and smiled encouragingly.  
  
She shot him a sharp glance, but continued, “A party of hunters found him in the forest. Ay, but he was a sorry sight, Pelair.” Her face softened as she remembered. “The healer took him in, and it was many days before it was certain he would live. When he got better he had no speech except what the healer had taught him, and no memory. Like a newborn baby, he was.”  
  
“And he never remembered anything?” Blair tried to keep his voice free of emotion. It wasn't easy – but far too easy to picture Enqueri, young and alone and injured in the forest. Terrified, probably, just as Blair had been all too recently. He wondered what could have happened to that boy that was so terrible he'd repressed not only the memory of it, but of his entire life, his language, everything. Engrossed in his thoughts, he barely noticed when Yachay patted him gently on the shoulder before she shuffled away.  
  
***  
  
Now that Blair was more mobile, Enqueri had started going with some of the hunting parties again. And Blair couldn't help noticing that, when he did, the resulting harvest was always more plentiful than when he didn't. He added that fact to the growing list of observations that told him Enqueri had – at the very least – three enhanced senses. Touch and taste would be a little more difficult to pin down.  
  
He hadn't directly questioned Enqueri about his senses, nor, since that first time, had he asked the villagers about him. Trust had to be earned, after all. Still, it was time he tried again, and with that in mind, he began to accompany Enqueri and his flock of young helpers when they went out searching for the herbs Enqueri used for his healing.   
  
Enqueri never seemed to mind the questions Blair asked about the plants they gathered, answering each query with calm expertise. The previous healer had taught him most of what he knew, but he admitted to experimenting with new plants as well.  
  
“How do you know what to try?” Blair looked up from his contemplation of a broad leaf with sharp points at the tips.  
  
There was a small hesitation, then Enqueri ducked his head uncomfortably. “I just… the scent of the leaf or the flower tells me. I don't really understand it, Blair. I just know.”  
  
He considered that for a moment. It was the closest Enqueri had come to mentioning his abilities. “And do you always get it right?”  
  
“Sometimes.” A small shrug. “Most times.”  
  
“Wow. That's really…” He grinned. “I know a few pharmaceutical companies…” he realised Enqueri was staring blankly at him, “…uh, healers, I mean. They'd love to have your abilities.”  
  
The blue gaze turned wary, then Enqueri turned his head away.  
  
“Hey, it's okay. I wouldn't tell anybody…” Blair hesitated, realising that that was exactly what he was planning to do – write a book and tell the whole damned  _world_  about what – who – he'd found here. “I mean, not any of the other tribes. I know you don't want outsiders to know that you're a sentinel.” It was the first time he'd come right out and said it, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw Enqueri's shoulders tense.  
  
“I am  _not_  a sentinel.” Enqueri's voice dropped to a fierce growl. “I am a  _healer_. I do not kill. Not for any reason.”  
  
“Okay. Okay, man.” Blair raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “But you have the senses, right? All five? And you use them to help with your healing? That's just so awesome, 'queri. I just want to know more about what you can do.”  
  
Iskay ran up then, brandishing a leafy branch that was nearly as long as he was tall. “Enqueri, look! There's lots of these, just over here.” He grabbed Enqueri's hand, tugging at it impatiently. “Come!”  
  
Laughing, Enqueri allowed his young favourite – some said the next healer – to drag him away. Leaving Blair's questions unanswered.  
  
Blair sighed. He still had plenty of time, but he wished Enqueri would trust him.  
  
***  
  
Blair realised the Chopec had accepted him, or at least got used to him, when the kids stopped following him everywhere and began to find more interesting things to do. When one of the hunting parties brought back a young squirrel ape they'd found lost in the jungle, he accepted his inevitable loss of status with a grin.  
  
Gradually, he'd fitted himself into the life of the village, helping Enqueri with drying the herbs the children collected for him or, when Enqueri went off with a hunting party, sitting with the women braiding fibres into tough lengths of string and rope, tanning skins, and even, once, trying his hand at weaving on Tamaya's backstrap loom. The results caused much hilarity, and he was never allowed to do it again.  
  
The men of the village were more reserved, but then more than half of the warriors were absent on patrols or hunting trips at any one time and Blair hadn't had much of a chance to get to know them. Once his splint was off and his leg strengthened, he planned on going hunting if he could get the headman, Mallku, to agree to it.  
  
Meanwhile, he contented himself with honing his sketching skills, and if Enqueri featured in more than his fair share of the sketches, well, Blair wasn't going to think too closely about that. He glanced over at the healer, squatting beside Ylla, head cocked over her rounded belly, listening intently. After a moment, Enqueri gave a nod of satisfaction and she smiled broadly and rubbed the full curve. They exchanged a few words then Enqueri rose and walked over to Blair.  
  
He studied the sketch for a moment – just a quick one, but Blair thought it captured something of their characters – and settled on the log next to Blair.  
  
“The baby's all right?”  
  
“Yes.” Enqueri smiled peaceably. “She's ready to be born. Maybe in a day or two.”  
  
“You can tell that? Just by listening?” Sometimes Enqueri would calmly come out with some random observation that took Blair's breath away. They hadn't spoken again about his abilities, but Blair was learning a hell of a lot in this roundabout way. “How do you know it's a girl?”  
  
“I just do.” Enqueri considered that for a moment, his brow wrinkling a little. Then he shrugged. “The smell's different.”  
  
Could it be the hormones? Blair filed that thought away for later. “So, I guess you could tell quite early if a woman's pregnant?”  
  
“Usually before they do.” Enqueri grinned at Blair's stunned expression and rose to his feet. “I have to go check Rumi's arm.” He strolled away, blithely unconcerned by Blair's reaction.  
  
***  
  
Incacha was watching him. Incacha watched him a lot, especially when he was with Enqueri. Blair never got the impression that this surveillance was in any way threatening, but he wondered what it implied. Perhaps he was simply worried that Blair would somehow convince Enqueri to leave with him when his leg was healed.  
  
Personally, Blair thought that was an extremely unlikely event, even if he'd tried; but he hadn't. Enqueri showed not the slightest interest in anything outside the world he was living in and none of Blair's attempts to probe into his past met with any success at all. Enqueri was happy where he was, and Blair couldn't imagine how he would fit into modern city life any more than the other Chopec would.  
  
It didn't escape Blair's notice that Incacha waited for a day when Enqueri set out with a hunting party to finally approach him. Having a sentinel in the village must make private conversations pretty damn difficult.  
  
“Pelair.” Incacha waited, standing before him, for Blair to struggle to his feet. “Walk with me.” It wasn't a suggestion, though spoken in a mild enough tone.   
  
Blair balanced precariously on his good leg while Nuna lifted his crutch for him to lean on. He hobbled after Incacha with far more skill than he'd originally managed. He'd had plenty of practice by now; in fact it was nearly time for his splints to come off. He wondered if that fact, also, had something to do with the timing of this conversation.  
  
His suspicions were confirmed when, after following Incacha into his hut and lowering himself cautiously to the woven mat that covered most of the floor, Incacha remarked: “Your leg is healing well?”  
  
“Yes, it is.” Blair left it at that. He might not be planning on stealing the tribe's healer, but he didn't feel any need to make this easier for the shaman.  
  
“When you and Enqueri leave the Chopec, there are things you must know.”   
  
“Hey. Wait a minute.” Blair held up his hands. That hit a sore spot. He hadn't forgotten that first rush of enthusiasm and the self-disgust that followed. He'd never been able to bring himself to so much as mention the possibility to Enqueri. “Why would Enqueri leave? This is his home.”  
  
“But you are…” and Incacha used a word Blair hadn't heard before. “Of course he will go with you.”  
  
Blair shook his head. “I don't know what you think is happening, but Enqueri is my friend. No more.”  _No matter how much I want there to be more_ , he thought.  
  
“Then you have not…?” He made a gesture that was unmistakeable, and Blair found himself blushing as he shook his head emphatically. It didn't seem to appease Incacha in the least. His frown deepened. “Then you must not. If you and Enqueri are not to be,” and he used the word again, “then you  _must_  not mate with him.”  
  
“I think that's between me and Enqueri.” Blair was tempted to say more, but showing disrespect to the shaman wasn't a wise move. Especially since it seemed unlikely that he and Enqueri would ever act on the attraction that simmered in the background, impossible to ignore. Equally impossible to act on. “Perhaps you should talk to him about it.”  
  
“I will.” Incacha promised grimly.  
  
And, when the hunting party returned the following day, loaded with all the meat they could possibly carry – which happened far more often than not when Enqueri went with them – Blair saw Incacha draw Enqueri aside almost immediately.  
  
He tried not to watch too obviously. The two men spoke heatedly for a few minutes, with several glances in his direction, before Enqueri strode off, his long legs carrying him swiftly towards his hut, stripping off his kilt as he went. Moments later he emerged again, carrying the bowl of soap and a washrag and headed off towards the river.   
  
Casting aside discretion, Blair manoeuvred himself to his feet and followed. The rest of the villagers watched in silence.  
  
By the time Blair reached the river, Enqueri was already in the water, washing himself. He paused to admire the view – it was certainly a remarkable one, as sun-browned skin glistening with water rippled over lean muscle.   
  
As Blair hesitated, Enqueri turned to face him. He must have heard Blair following him, but Enqueri's lips tightened. It wasn't often that Enqueri lost his temper, but when he did the results were impressive.  
  
“Do you, also, have something to say?”  
  
Blair decided on discretion. “Not me, man. I never meant to piss Incacha off.” At least, not much.  
  
The angry lines of his face relaxed a little. “Since you're here, you might as well wash.”  
  
“Okay.” It was still a hassle getting in and out of his clothes, but Blair wasn't going to turn down that invitation. He stripped as quickly as he could, regarding his rapidly disintegrating boxers with disfavour. He'd be going commando soon, and that wouldn't help his libido any.  
  
He sank into the water with a pleased sigh while Enqueri hovered nearby, soap and washrag at the ready. This time, when Blair had soaped himself as much as he could, Enqueri carefully turned him around, gathering him close to lean against his chest while he washed Blair's back.  
  
Oh, fuck… Blair shivered, his cock stirring immediately. He heard Enqueri's shaken breath, felt his heart percussing against the hand Blair put up to his chest – just to steady himself, he thought, but not fooling himself in the slightest. He closed his eyes, turning his face into Enqueri's throat, where the throb of his jugular echoed the pounding beneath his palm.  
  
“Chaska…” It was barely a whisper, but Blair tilted back his head to see Enqueri's face more clearly. A large, calloused hand cupped his cheek and Enqueri's lips brushed lightly against his own.  
  
He wanted, more than anything, to have this. To take what Enqueri was offering, to give in return whatever pleasure he could. But Incacha was right; this wasn't fair. He couldn't let it happen. “Please… 'queri, no. We can't.”  
  
Enqueri released him, but didn't move away. Blair could feel the brush of his rising cock, and that almost undid all his good intentions. He forced himself to step backwards and immediately stumbled, falling back into the water with a splash. When he surfaced, Enqueri was a couple of yards away, swimming furiously upstream.   
  
Blair sighed and waded cautiously to the bank and began pulling on his clothes over wet skin. He suspected he'd need to be fully dressed when Enqueri came back. He hoped it would be protection enough.  
  
As it happened, Blair had plenty of time to recover his equilibrium. His clothes had almost ceased to stick humidly to his body when Enqueri rose out of the water like some avenging water spirit, hair dripping, body gleaming in the sun, and came to kneel at Blair's feet. Before Blair's overstimulated imagination could provide him with a less prosaic explanation for his posture, the healer's large, gentle hand clasped the ankle of his injured leg, turning it slightly, frowning.  
  
“Enqueri…” Blair's croak was ignored as Enqueri's long fingers began to tug carefully at the bindings of his splint. He fell silent again, waiting until the splint had been entirely removed.   
  
The examination continued, with Enqueri lightly running his fingertips over Blair's leg, a slight frown marring his forehead. He pressed more firmly and Blair tensed, expecting pain; but there wasn't any, just a tenderness that quickly faded.   
  
Enqueri glanced up at him. “Is there pain, Blair?”   
  
“No…” Still, Blair held his breath as Enqueri's hands moved over his leg. His body remembered the pain and was reacting in spite of his best efforts.  
  
“Come.” Enqueri stood, holding down an imperative hand to assist Blair to rise to his feet.   
  
He wobbled precariously, trying to favour the injured leg and almost losing his balance. At Enqueri's impatient look, he put his foot firmly on the ground and cautiously adjusted his balance. The leg felt weak, the muscles trembling slightly, but there was no pain. He grinned broadly in relief, but the grin faded fast when Enqueri failed to return it.  
  
“You must walk as much as your leg can bear.” Enqueri released him, stepping away. “Soon you will be strong enough to leave.”  
  
“Yeah.” Blair's heart sank. “That's… it's good news.” He studied Enqueri's face but could make nothing of the healer's impassive expression. “You know… you could… could come with me.”   
  
If he could get proof of Enqueri's identity, which was doubtful. If he could get any kind of documentation – a passport, a visa. God only knew how the Peruvian – or, worse, the American – authorities would view Enqueri's legal status. He could be letting his friend in for a world of trouble.   
  
It was almost a relief to see Enqueri shake his head emphatically. “My home is here. My place is here.”  
  
***  
  
The next few days were uncomfortable, to say the least. The open, relaxed friendship he'd shared with Enqueri had been replaced with awkwardness and a distinct coolness. He was aware of Incacha watching them both with a grimness that was uncharacteristic of his usual, cheerful manner; Enqueri must have been aware of it too – hell, the whole  _village_  knew something was going on – but gave no sign of noticing. He avoided both Blair and Incacha as much as he could.   
  
For the first time, Blair felt a shimmer of apprehension. If the Chopec thought he was out to steal their healer, or had disrespected their shaman, the situation could get very ugly. Even Yachay did no more than nod a greeting when he sat beside her and took up some strands of fibre to braid into rope. They worked in silence for several minutes before the old woman sighed.  
  
“We don't like to see our healer unhappy, Pelair.” Yachay's body might be aged and frail but her dark eyes were bright and sharp. “If you were not also obviously miserable, there would be trouble.”  
  
Blair shrugged dejectedly. “When my leg heals I must leave here, and Enqueri must stay. There's nothing in that to make either of us happy.”  
  
“Ay, it's hard.” She patted his arm consolingly. “All the more reason not to waste the days you have in squabbling like children.”  
  
“Tell that to Enqueri,” he said with a touch of bitterness. “He won't listen to me.”  
  
She chuckled softly before sobering and fixing her eyes on his face. “That one is paying the price for his conceit. He's taken enough lovers to his bed, but I've never seen him give his heart before. Now he's acting like a youth thwarted in love for the first time.”  
  
In love? Blair turned to stare at Enqueri, deep in conversation with a young warrior who'd sprained a shoulder several days ago. He watched as the healer examined the youth, flexing his arm and probing the joint, then he turned back to Yachay with a rueful smile. “Maybe he's not the only one.”  
  
“Ay, you men.” She rolled her eyes, but her voice was sympathetic. “Always ruled by your dicks. That's why you need women.”  
  
Blair grinned. “If I could find one as beautiful and wise as you, then I'd marry her in a heartbeat.”  
  
“You could marry me,” she cackled. “Wayra wouldn't mind. He tires more easily than me these days.”  
  
Blair choked, though god knew it wasn't the first – or the worst – lewd comment she'd made to him. Most of the men in the village feared and adored her in equal measure and none, from the most ancient to the youngest stripling, was exempt from her ribald joking. He was still laughing as he glanced over towards Enqueri, only to find the healer was watching him.  
  
What might have happened next, Blair would never know. Enqueri's head turned, and suddenly he was running headlong down one of the paths that lead into the jungle. The suddenness of it was warning enough that something was wrong. Blair dragged himself to his feet and hurried after Enqueri as fast as he was able.   
  
He'd barely got out of sight of the village – a matter of twenty yards or so – when several children came rushing towards him. He caught hold of one, a little girl of maybe six. “What's happened?”  
  
There was a torrent of words, too fast, too garbled for him to understand most of it, but he caught a name – Iskay – and the ominous word 'shushupe', one of the most venomous snakes in Peru. He hugged her quickly and told her to fetch Iskay's mother, then ran on, forcing his already aching legs to greater speed.   
  
It seemed like he'd been running an eternity, but nobody from the village had caught up with him yet. His newly healed leg burned painfully and he thought, vaguely, that he would be paying for this later. It had been so long since he'd been able to exert himself that his lungs were heaving like bellows when he finally found Enqueri, just now rising to his feet with Iskay in his arms. Blair could see the bite mark in the fleshy part of the boy's left calf, just below a tourniquet made from a strip of cloth.  
  
The boy looked awful, his face grey and streaked with tears; but the healer looked worse. Enqueri's eyes were desolate, his lips a grim line. The boy would die without antivenin and there was certainly none of it to be had among the Chopec.  
  
“Bring him, quickly.” Blair's curt order drew a surprised look from Enqueri. “I have something that might…”  
  
Enqueri's eyes sharpened and he pushed past Blair on the narrow winding trail, his long legs carrying him out of sight almost immediately. Blair groaned and forced himself into a steady trot, the best he could manage now.  
  
In a couple of minutes Enqueri was back. He held out an imperative hand and, with no dignity or comfort, dragged Blair up into the Chopec equivalent of a fireman's lift across his shoulders. He jogged back towards the village, every step jarring Blair unpleasantly. “Incacha has him. What can you do?”  
  
“There's… oof… some medicine…” a particularly severe jolt took his breath away for a moment, “might not work, but…” he was trying desperately to recall the use by date and whether the generic antivenin would work on a Bushmaster bite. “…worth a try…”  
  
“If you can save him…” Enqueri's voice betrayed his pain. He pushed his pace still harder and Blair gave up all thought of speech.  
  
When they reached the village, he saw Iskay in the centre of a distraught group of Chopec, cradled in his mother's arms. Enqueri strode past them to his hut and lowered Blair to the ground. “What do you need?”  
  
“The bag… little box with a red cross on it.” Blair was whooping as painfully for breath as if he'd run a marathon. Obviously, he was far less fit than he'd realised.   
  
The first aid kit was thrust into his shaking hands and he fumbled it open, found the snakebite kit and the syringe. Half a dozen ampoules of antivenin were tucked carefully into a plastic box with padding to keep them safe. He fumbled one out and filled the syringe under Enqueri's suddenly watchful gaze.  
  
Enqueri called out a sharp command and Incacha came over, carrying Iskay. The boy was getting worse by the moment, as the venom overwhelmed his small body far more swiftly than it would have an adult's. Unlike American youngsters, his eyes betrayed no recognition of the syringe, merely a dull resignation. He probably knew all too well what would happen to a victim of the shushupe.  
  
Blair smiled reassuringly and held up the syringe so the boy could see the needle. “This too has a bite, but it will fight the snake's poison.” He hoped he was right. Iskay simply nodded, biting his lip, and whimpered a little as the needle went in. Blair closed his eyes and hoped for the best.  
  
“It will take time for the medicine to work.” He slumped back against Enqueri's side for a moment. “Keep him still and don't elevate his leg. Keep him cool, if you can.”  
  
“We'll pray to the spirits that your medicine is strong.” Incacha nodded his thanks and turned away to return the boy to his parents.  
  
***  
  
Blair slept most of the afternoon away, waking only as the light faded. He staggered to his feet and out into the village, heading by instinct for the latrines. Having done his business there, he made his way to the village centre, where there was no sign of Enqueri or Incacha.  
  
He was greeted with sombre pleasure by those who knew him best, and learned, not much to his surprise, that Iskay was still very ill. Enqueri and Incacha were with him, as were most of the boy's extended family. In a village this size, that could encompass about a third of the population, and at any other time he might have pursued the lines of kinship. Today he merely shrugged tiredly. His leg ached abominably and he felt heavy and exhausted in spite of his nap.  
  
“It's going well, Pelair.” Tamaya patted him on the shoulder, her eyes gleaming. “The boy should have been dead by now. Your medicine is strong.”   
  
“Thanks. I'll be happier when he's recovered.”  _If he recovers,_  was his unspoken thought.  _God, please, let him recover._  
  
Someone brought him food and he ate listlessly. The mood of the village was still subdued; everybody knew Iskay wasn't safe yet. Wayra started a long rambling story; the kind the Chopec used to entertain themselves in the evenings. Blair had recorded a few of them before the batteries on his tape deck went flat, and taken notes on many more. They were fascinating in terms of what they revealed about belief systems, but tonight he couldn't work up any interest. As soon as he politely could, he excused himself and returned to the hut he shared with Enqueri.  
  
He slept badly, waking with every movement that sent a throb of pain through his abused leg. Each time he woke, he sensed he was alone in the hut and his concern mounted. Surely Iskay should be on the mend by now?  
  
When Enqueri finally entered the hut, Blair woke immediately. He could tell, just from the clumsiness of Enqueri's movements that the boy hadn't survived. His heart sinking, he whispered Enqueri's name but got no response. Should he do something? Or just lie here and allow Enqueri the space he so clearly wanted.  
  
Opting for a compromise, Blair pushed himself up onto his elbow, and hissed softly when his ribs protested. They'd also, obviously, taken a battering this afternoon, but the pain of his leg had overshadowed the lesser pain until now.  
  
“What is it?” In the dim light, Blair saw Enqueri's head turn towards him.  
  
“My leg. It's… it hurts a lot.” Maybe engaging the healer's instincts would work better than outright sympathy. “Have you got that pain medicine?”  
  
“No, but I can…” Enqueri sounded distracted, his voice hoarse. “Wait.” He rose from his low pallet, hunted around until he found something, and went out again.  
  
Maybe that hadn't been such a good idea after all, Blair thought as he lay back down. But a couple of minutes later Enqueri was back, with a mug of something that smelled bad and tasted worse. He drank it all with a sigh of relief and submitted to a careful examination by Enqueri.  
  
“Your leg isn't damaged,” he offered after a long pause. “You've just over used it. You should be able to sleep soon.”  
  
“Stay.” As Enqueri started to rise, Blair grabbed his arm. “Please, 'queri, stay.”  
  
“You need to sleep, Chaska.” Reluctance, yearning, grief; all melded together in Enqueri's voice.  
  
“I will,” Blair promised. “Just stay with me.”  
  
Enqueri sighed, but he lifted the light blanket again and slid beneath the cover, stretching out at Blair's side. After another pause, he turned into Blair's offered arm, pressing his face into Blair's throat and they lay there in fragile peace until Blair fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
Blair tucked away his rapidly dwindling pencil into his shirt pocket and sighed. The writing in his journal was crabbed as small and tight as he could make it, but he was still running out of space. It was one more reminder that soon he would be leaving. A reminder he'd rather not have.  
  
He glanced across to where Enqueri was standing, talking to Incacha and Mallku, and wasn't surprised to find him staring back. In the weeks since Iskay's death, the two of them had grown ever closer, to the point that even without sentinel abilities Blair could often sense Enqueri's presence halfway across the village. And if the rest of the Chopec thought they were lovers, well let them. Blair had never been as intimate with any of his lovers as he was with Enqueri; however they'd done nothing more than sleep in the same bed on occasion. Not even a kiss had passed between them.  
  
Sometimes, Blair found himself regretting that, but most of the time he recognised that he'd lucked onto something precious and rare, and he wasn't willing to risk it for an affair that was doomed to end all too soon.  
  
A slight tilt of Enqueri's chin signalled Blair to come over, so he tucked his journal under one arm and rose to his feet. Maybe there was going to be a hunting party – though one had returned just two days ago. He'd been angling for another invitation since the two-day foray he'd been on a couple of weeks ago. He'd learned so much about Enqueri's sentinel abilities through seeing him in action; more than he'd ever imagined possible. And then there were the social factors... He could spend the next ten years exploring all the avenues opened to him in the last few months, maybe get enough grants to allow him to return on a regular basis.  
  
Blair smiled and nodded respectfully as he approached the three most important men in the tribe – sentinel, shaman, and headman. Whatever they'd been discussing obviously hadn't pleased Enqueri, whose face was set in grim lines. The other two men seemed relaxed enough, so Blair swallowed his apprehension and greeted them politely, throwing a questioning glance in Enqueri's direction.  
  
Enqueri avoided his eyes, instead deferring to Mallku, who smiled broadly. “Pelair, we have good news. The Macu have begun raiding the Yurua's territory.”  
  
“That's great news.” The Macu were on the northwestern edge of the Yurua territory, the opposite side from the Chopec. With the Yurua occupied elsewhere the villagers could relax a little from the state of alertness they'd been in ever since Blair had arrived. “There will be more time for hunting, then. I was hoping…”  
  
“Mallku means to say…” and Enqueri glanced apologetically at the headman, “we can now spare some warriors to take you to the nearest village.”  
  
“Oh.” Blair stared at the three of them blankly. “Um, what about the rains? Aren't they coming soon?”  
  
“Enqueri can tell us that.” Incacha smiled with some sympathy for Blair's obvious shock. “What do you think, my friend?”  
  
In answer Enqueri closed his eyes and tilted his head. After a moment he inhaled deeply and held the breath. The sight of Enqueri utilising his sensory abilities never failed to thrill Blair, and it didn't now; but his heart sank as the healer opened his eyes and said regretfully: “There is time, I think. If we leave tomorrow.”  
  
So, this was it. Blair managed a smile and to mutter some thanks before he turned away with the excuse that he needed to get his things ready. He walked towards Enqueri's hut, somehow keeping his head up, but all he felt was a sick sense of loss, not just at leaving Enqueri, but every friend he'd made while he'd been here.  
  
He was sitting on his bed, desultorily sorting through his belongings, packing them into the small bag that he'd arrived with. There were a few more things to go in there now – little gifts that he'd been given – but he wasn't going to have any problem fitting them all in. He could do it all in less than an hour, for that matter; he just wasn't ready to face the inevitable comments and goodbyes. Not yet.  
  
When Enqueri's tall figure darkened the doorway, he swiped a hand across his face and looked up. “So… I guess the word's got around?”  
  
Enqueri smiled absently. “Yachay's organising a feast. She's about as pleased at the short notice as you'd expect.”  
  
God… Yachay. Next to Enqueri, he'd miss her the most. He didn't know how he'd say goodbye to her. Tears blurred his vision and he blinked rapidly. “I guess I'll be leaving early in the morning? No staying up late drinking kuka tea?” He chuckled, but it was a miserable sound.  
  
“Yes,  _we_  will.” Enqueri came closer, dropped to his knees in front of Blair. “You did not think I would leave you to make the journey alone.”  
  
That was precisely what Blair had thought, but he didn't say so. He didn't know whether it would be better or worse to have Enqueri's company, knowing how little time they had left. “I… I thought you would be too valuable to the tribe to be gone for so long.”  
  
A large hand cupped his cheek. “And you are too valuable to me, my friend, to give you up before I must.”   
  
***  
  
Four days of hard travel drove Blair nearly to the edge of exhaustion. But, as much as he wanted it to be over, as much as he longed for the amenities of civilisation, he would have gladly have walked another four days, just to remain at Enqueri's side. On the last day, they made camp early.  
  
“The village isn't far.” Enqueri's stoic expression mirrored his own. “But we won't reach it until long after dark if we continue.”  
  
“I'm happy to stop.” Blair watched Incacha and the young men as they melted into the trees. There was a stream nearby, even he could hear it, and they would probably take advantage of the early halt to hunt for fresh meat. “It's been a hard trip.”  
  
Enqueri made no response to the remark. Throughout the journey he'd been more than usually reserved, and Blair had almost gotten used to the silence, telling himself it was a necessary precaution when travelling through potentially dangerous territory. Enqueri turned away and Blair was left alone in the tiny clearing.  
  
It was only for a few minutes. One thing was certain; Enqueri's protective instincts would not allow him to abandon anyone under his care. Blair had barely had time to gather together a few sticks to use for kindling when Enqueri returned.  
  
“There's a lookout nearby. I can take you there.” He offered the words diffidently.  
  
Blair forced himself to smile. “Okay.”  
  
About half a mile from where they'd stopped the jungle ended abruptly at a cliff's edge. In the distance, he thought he could see signs of habitation. “Is that it? The village?”  
  
Enqueri grunted his assent and pointed to the left. “We'll follow the hillside down. Over there.”  
  
“I understand.” There was a curious ache in his chest. Blair had had many lovers, and left them all without a second glance when the time came. Enqueri wasn't even that much to him, and yet in so many ways, he was much more than a lover. He wasn't yet ready to lose his friend. “I wish you'd change your decision and come with me. You must have family somewhere. We could find them.”  
  
“My family is here. My place is here.” Enqueri glanced down at him and then away. “Blair, you could stay. With me.”  
  
Blair's heart began to pound. But it was too late now. He shook his head ruefully. “I wish I could. I don't belong here.”  
  
“And I do.” The stern face was implacable. Enqueri was not willing to leave, and Blair not willing to stay. Impasse.  
  
“I'm sorry.” What he was apologising for, Blair wasn't entirely sure, but the ache in his chest was getting worse with each moment that passed and surely he must have done something wrong to feel so bad. He turned to face the taller man and put his hands on the broad shoulders, looking up slightly into his face. It was time to withdraw gracefully from the precipice on which they stood, but Blair couldn't find the words he needed; not in Quechua, not in English – even if Enqueri had understood the language.  
  
“Why?” Enqueri looked puzzled, and while Blair blinked in surprise at the question, his face softened into a tender smile. “I'm not sorry, Blair. You have brought me much joy.”  
  
He stared, transfixed, and wished with all his heart that Enqueri had asked this of him a month ago. Even a week ago, he might have been crazy enough to throw himself into Enqueri's arms and forget about the life awaiting him beyond the jungle's edge. Now, already prepared to leave, he couldn't take that step back. And that, of course, was why Enqueri had waited. “I don't deserve you. You're too honourable to take advantage of me, aren't you?”  
  
With shocking swiftness, Enqueri swooped down to claim his mouth in a long, long kiss. When they parted he smiled faintly. “Not so honourable, my friend.”  
  
“Good.” Blair stretched up just a little and returned the kiss, his hands tightening on those shoulders for a moment before loosening their hold long enough to link fingers behind Enqueri's neck.  
  
He could feel Enqueri walking him backwards, but most of his brain was occupied with sending orders to his tongue, though not for talking. They stopped with a tiny thud when Blair's back hit a tree trunk. He spared a glance and saw it was one of the enormous skyscrapers, hundreds of feet high and easily ten feet across. Then Enqueri leaned into him and he lost all awareness of his surroundings.  
  
One hand was thrust deep into his hair, the other slid along his bare arm to his wrist and drew his hands free from Enqueri's neck. Blair smiled against warm, mobile lips and laid his hands, palms flat, on the impressive pecs. He could feel the stutter of Enqueri's heartbeat, and the hard points of his nipples. With a quick thrust he took possession of Enqueri's mouth while he rubbed his palms in little circles against the nipples.  
  
“Blair!” Enqueri broke off the kiss with a gasp. “You…”  
  
“I. Want. You.” He punctuated each word with a fierce little kiss. “I want you  _now_.” He abandoned his game and slid his hand down over the hard, muscular body to Enqueri's thigh. “Do you want me?”  
  
“ _Yes_!” Enqueri moved urgently against him, then stilled as Blair's hand found its way under the overlapping edge of his kilt and took hold of his cock. “Yes, I want you.”  
  
Blair groaned, beyond words for the moment. Enqueri's cock felt wonderful in his hand, heavy, hot and supple; not hard – not yet – but he would be soon. He slid his hand up to the root and squeezed, slowly pulling downwards, feeling the turgid shaft thicken and lengthen further, feeling the slippery wetness at the tip. Slowly, he repeated the movement, again and again until Enqueri's moans were all that he could hear.  
  
“Yeah… oh god, you feel so good.” He glanced down, saw only his hand buried in the cloth and a shadowy hint of thigh. “Let me look at you. I want to look at you.”  
  
Enqueri's chest heaved, but no sound emerged until, with a grunt, he wrenched at the braided cord that held his kilt in place and tore it and the piece of cloth away from his body. His cock swayed heavily when Blair released it, the tip darkened with blood and swollen to what must be intense sensitivity where it had rubbed against the coarse weave of the kilt.  
  
“Oh, man… you're beautiful…” Blair ran his fingertips lightly over the moist surface and Enqueri shuddered. “Want you…”  
  
“Blair. Quiet.” Enqueri kissed him again, effectively muffling the words Blair couldn't keep from spilling out of his mouth. His hand plucked at the buttons on Blair's sleeveless shirt, fumbling with the unfamiliarity at first, then quickly learning the trick. He pulled the shirt open and slid his hands over the damp mat of hair with an appreciative moan. “Feels good.”  
  
“Feels  _very_  good.” It was getting more and more difficult to think or speak, especially in Quechua. Soon he'd be reduced to grunts and moans, but that didn't matter. Enqueri was hard now, and he pumped the thick shaft carefully; his own erection was still trapped inside his shorts and he wasn't going to be left behind. “Touch me, 'queri. Please.”  
  
“Mmn…” Enqueri's face was buried against his throat and he was licking gently, sniffing and tasting and… oh god! Touching his belly just  _there_ , and how had he known it would feel so good when even Blair hadn't known that about himself? His hand moved obediently to Blair's shorts and swiftly applied his new knowledge of buttons to this slightly different scenario. He shoved the shorts down off Blair's hips and his hand, large and curiously comforting, wrapped around Blair's shaft and began to stroke.  
  
For a moment the world receded and Blair could only squirm and try to thrust into the confining hand. Their bodies slippery with sweat, each moved slickly against the other, hands bumping as they jerked each other off, until Enqueri muttered an indistinct curse and pulled Blair's hand away for a moment. He shoved forward, wrapping his hand around both cocks, and Blair laid his on top. Now as they moved there was only the delicious friction of cock against cock. Blair shivered and moaned as the sweat poured off him. Soon… soon… dear god…  
  
But it was not to be. The hand that held his cock so securely tightened for a moment and Blair gasped, his body collapsing limply back against the tree. His legs buckled and together they dropped to their knees on the soft detritus of the forest floor. Undaunted, Blair jerked his hips forward, rubbing his cock against Enqueri's groin.  
  
“No. Not…” Enqueri pushed him away a little, breathing in harsh pants. With a quick movement he all but flipped Blair around, steadying him as his legs tangled.  
  
When Blair's sense of balance returned, he was kneeling with his back to Enqueri. His ass, apparently having a mind of its own, was shamelessly pushing back into Enqueri's groin. “Oh,  _god_ , yes…  _yes_ …”  
  
He leaned forward as Enqueri pushed him gently, bracing his arms against the tree trunk. His shorts were around his knees, and could have been in the next country for all he was aware of them. Enqueri's warm weight covered his back, though his shirt lay between them; but Blair could feel the soft tickle of pubic hair and the satiny heat of his cock sliding along the crease of his ass. He parted his legs and pushed back with a moan.  
  
Gentle fingers traced the contour of his ass, teasing along the cleft and dipping in to touch his anus. Blair shuddered. “Hush. Be still, Blair.”  
  
He tried, but it was  _so_  hard. Even before Enqueri's fingertip had come to rest, he was thrusting back onto it, wanting it inside him. “Please. Please, 'queri… please…” he'd be reduced to whimpering soon.  
  
Enqueri laughed breathlessly, and replaced his probing finger with the hot, blunt tip of his cock. Blair fell silent, shaking with need and anticipation as the thick shaft moved deep inside him. For the space of a couple of heartbeats, they were completely silent, except for the harsh sound of their breathing, and then Enqueri began to thrust into him, deep, powerful thrusts, smooth and hard, just the way Blair loved to be fucked.  
  
He began to sob; incoherent words and meaningless sounds escaping him, beyond all hope of control. Enqueri nuzzled the back of his neck and brought one hand up to cover his mouth. The other found his cock and began to pump it. Sweat half blinded him, dripped from his chin and nose and shattered on the half-rotted vegetation that covered the jungle floor. He bowed his head a little more and watched Enqueri's hand moving so skilfully on his cock.  
  
By shifting his weight a little, Blair realised he could balance them both with just one arm, bent against the tree. He laid his free hand over Enqueri's, tightening his grip and speeding up the movement as Enqueri grunted in surprise. So close now. He felt it building, like the pressure before a storm. His whole body was rocking with the force of Enqueri's thrusts and he could feel the labouring breaths of his lover.  
  
A groan was all the warning he got. Enqueri's teeth sank into the soft flesh of his shoulder, a sweet, blunt pain, and it sent him flying out of control. Dazed, he watched the liquid explosion of his climax as it splattered the tree and ground before him, felt the last few drops dribble over their joined hands. Then, like a chain reaction, he felt Enqueri's body quake, above him and inside him; felt the solid core of his body turn to liquid again as he slumped forward.  
  
Even then, gentle hands supported him until Enqueri's cock slid free of him, and then they lowered him carefully to the ground. The solid strength of Enqueri's body lay beside him, a sheltering presence while Blair shivered, his whole being undone by the extravagance of his response to this man. Caressing fingers soothed him and gradually, Blair became aware of the quiet voice, not the words, but the cadence. He blinked and stared up into Enqueri's face.  
  
“Wow! That was… that was…” he realised he was speaking English and smiled apologetically. “You make me forget where I am.” Hell, he'd all but forgotten  _who_  he was, not just  _where_  he was.  
  
Enqueri smiled and leaned down to kiss him, and that kiss told Blair as clearly as any words could have, that Enqueri had not finished with him yet. In fact the kiss lasted a long time, not finishing so much as changing venue, as Enqueri moved from lips to cheek to ears and throat, then down over Blair's chest. His skin was licked and sniffed and sucked and nibbled and stroked until Blair's senses were close to overloading and his depleted cock was reluctantly stirring back to life, far more quickly than he would have believed possible.  
  
He watched the process with detached pleasure, occasionally lifting teasing strands of long hair away from his chest or belly. He parted his thighs wantonly, as Enqueri approached his groin, not yet ready to take an active part, but more than ready to be seduced. With a quick, wicked grin, Enqueri bypassed that area entirely, moving down Blair's thighs, and tugging the recalcitrant shorts down to his ankles, then patiently disentangling them enough to ease them over Blair's hiking boots.  
  
Thus freed, Blair grinned and spread his legs still further, almost unbearably excited just from seeing how Enqueri looked at him. Enqueri knelt, leaning back on his heels, and inspected Blair's sprawled body from head to toe, lingering meaningfully at his groin. For his part, Blair returned the favour; he'd seen Enqueri naked often enough, but there was something quite wonderful about the unselfconscious nudity of the man that aroused him in a way no other lover ever had.  
  
“Again. Take me again.” He growled the words quietly and watched Enqueri blink. “Use all your senses on me, 'queri. Give me everything.”  
  
Enqueri nodded soberly. He'd already been doing it, Blair knew, and it sent thrills of anticipation through his body to see that intent expression as Enqueri bent over his groin and inhaled deeply. His cock hardened instantly and Enqueri chuckled softly. His tongue flickered over the surface of Blair's cock, tasting him and teasing at the same time. His hands stroked up and down Blair's thighs, gently parting them still further, and every few seconds Enqueri would pause to scent him, or to inspect some tiny flaw or freckle on his skin.  
  
Blair had never felt such intimacy with a lover. It was so right, so perfect to be at the very centre of Enqueri's attention, not through any imagined perfection on Blair's part, but because it was so essential a part of his nature; and, oh, it made Blair happy to indulge his lover in this way. So, when he would have preferred to take a more active role, Blair forced himself to be still while his cock was slowly licked and sucked and lavished with the talented attentions of Enqueri's mouth. His hips bucked wildly, and his cock plunged deep; then deeper still as Enqueri's throat relaxed to take him in. It was wild, it was impossible. He came, hard; harder still as Enqueri swallowed and the ripples of his throat massaged Blair's cockhead, milking the last remaining drops of come from Blair's already wilting cock.  
  
As Blair collapsed and his cock slid free of Enqueri's lips, Enqueri gave it one last long stroke from root to tip and then mouthed his way down again until his breath flowed softly over Blair's balls. Blair moaned, a tremor starting deep in his gut and spreading out in ever diminishing ripples through his arms and legs until his fingers and toes tingled with sensation. They were already relaxing back into the loose sac, and very sensitive. Each testicle was caressed by Enqueri's tongue and then gently sucked. The dark head moved lower still, kissing and nibbling delicately at Blair's perineum.  
  
By now it was obvious what Enqueri's final destination must be, but Blair still gasped in shock at the first wet brush against his anus. God, it felt incredible. He was still tender and very open from the last time, and every flicker of tongue sent icy waves of pleasure through him. The soft caress mutated into a teasing flicker of probing tongue and then a gentle lapping, reducing Blair to a writhing, sobbing wreck. When Enqueri took his shins in a firm grip and pushed his bent legs almost to his shoulders, Blair's only concern was to fold up his body as accommodatingly as possible.  
  
He stared at his lover, kneeling between his booted feet, feeling completely, utterly exposed, and more aroused than he'd ever been in his life. “Please… 'queri,  _please_ …”  
  
Enqueri looked up, blue eyes intent, and suddenly they no longer seemed cool. No, the heat in them was like the desert sky, washed by the white-hot sun until the colour was almost burned away. His eyes were hot, hot… Blair swallowed and closed his eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his lover's gaze.  
  
“Blair.” Enqueri's voice was quiet, almost subliminal. His cock pressed gently against Blair's opening, politely requesting entrance. So unlike their earlier, desperate coupling.  
  
A tiny sound escaped Blair, a hungry, urgent sound. Slowly, too slowly, he was filled, but he lay quietly and it almost seemed as if the world grew still around them. When he could feel Enqueri's balls press lightly against his buttocks, Blair finally opened his eyes.  
  
His lover's face hovered above his own, no more than a few inches away. A strand of the dark, straight hair brushed Blair's cheek; and he smiled at the simple intimacy of the touch and reached up to stroke it back behind Enqueri's ear. The pale blue eyes shone with joy as Enqueri began at last to move within him.  
  
They kissed, with sweet, tender hesitancy, as though their bodies were not engaged in the most intimate of acts. Pleasure built in excruciatingly tiny increments until it seemed impossible that either of them would survive the intensity of their need. Then Enqueri's mouth came down hard on Blair's and the long, muscular body shuddered. He felt the climax take his lover and thought, right up to the last second, that he was too spent to join him. Then it hit him, like a seismic jolt; like the end of the world.  
  
***  
  
It must have been at least an hour before they made their way back to the campsite. By that time the hunters had returned and were preparing their kill. Atuq was tending the fire and Shullka had brought several gourds of water from the stream. Enqueri went straight to the water supply and drank deeply. Blair hurriedly joined him. When he'd finished, Blair turned away to see Incacha staring at them from across the clearing.  
  
The shaman strode towards them, and as he got closer Blair could see the anger that his painted face had hidden at a distance. Bypassing Enqueri, Incacha reached for Blair's arm and pulled him away. “What have you done? Did I not tell you…?”  
  
“Incacha.” Enqueri put a hand on his friend's shoulder. “It was my choice. Blame me, not Blair.”  
  
“Then you are a fool.” Incacha's eyes flashed. “Will you go with Pelair? Will he stay with you? No! You are both fools. How will you live now?”   
  
Blair looked at Enqueri, his heart sinking. Incacha's warning to him all those weeks ago hadn't seemed to be so important as it now appeared it must have been. “What do you mean? Enqueri's going to be all right, isn't he?”  
  
It seemed ridiculous to think that Enqueri could be endangered by what they'd done, but Blair had learned not to take anything for granted where spiritual matters were concerned. He grabbed hold of Incacha's arm, a gross breach of respect for the tribal shaman. “He's going to be all right.”  
  
“That is not your concern.” Incacha's face was implacable. “You do not belong here. Go back to your people and leave us to care for our own.”  
  
“No! 'queri, please. Tell me what's going on.” Blair turned to face his lover, his heart pounding. It was bad enough that he had to leave, but if his leaving brought harm to Enqueri because of some tribal superstition... what would he do? Could he really stay here for the rest of his life? Was this what Enqueri had planned when they'd made love?  
  
“Nothing will happen to me. I wouldn't have done it otherwise.” Enqueri met Incacha's eyes. “It was my choice to make, and it is done.”   
  
Incacha held his stare for a moment, then turned away.  
  
***  
  
Incacha's anger cast a pall over the entire group although it soon became apparent that only the three of them knew the cause of that anger and, try as he might, Blair could get nothing out of Incacha or Enqueri that would explain the reason for it. The evening passed slowly, with little talk among the men.  
  
They slept, curled together a little apart from the others, but Blair woke often, starting at every sound. Against his back, Enqueri lay still, but Blair thought he wasn't sleeping. When he whispered Enqueri's name the arm across his chest tightened fractionally but that was all the response he got. The night passed slowly, miserably, and Blair was relieved when the darkness slowly faded into dawn.  
  
The oppressive silence lingered as they prepared for the final stage of Blair's journey. They ate as they walked, cold meat from last night's meal, greasy and unappetising now, and wiped their hands on leaves as they passed. The sun was getting high when Enqueri brought their little group to a halt. He turned to face Blair, his face sombre.  
  
“We'll go alone from here.” A sharp glance stifled the objection Incacha was all too obviously about to make. “There are too many of us to move quietly and Blair won't be able to find the village alone.”  
  
Blair bridled at the implication, but knew that Enqueri was probably right. He made his farewells to the others, including Incacha, who at least unbent enough to wish him a safe return to his people. It wasn't as difficult as it had been to leave his friends back at the Chopec village, but Blair felt a lump rising in his throat. The last, worst farewell was yet to come, and he dreaded that.   
  
Another hour brought them close enough to the village that even Blair could hear the sounds, distant though they seemed. He knew he'd have no trouble finding the village now, but Enqueri took him closer still before stopping.  
  
“I can't come any closer, Blair.” He laid his hands on Blair's shoulders, his eyes scanning over Blair's face as though memorising his features. “Walk safely, my friend.”  
  
Blair nodded jerkily, unable to speak for once. He reached up to touch Enqueri's cheek, wondering if he should… and suddenly the thought was scattered as Enqueri dragged him into a fierce hug and his mouth crushed Blair's in a brutal, desperate kiss.  
  
When it ended, Blair leaned against the nearest tree for support, his heart pounding, eyes closed. Though he heard nothing, he knew when he opened them he'd be alone. Finally, he forced himself to look. The tiny clearing was empty.   
  
Wiping a hand across his eyes, he stumbled in the direction of the village.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**three months later…**  
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, my esteemed colleagues. It's a huge pleasure to be here tonight.” Blair tried, as he always did, to make eye contact with as many people as possible. The number of people crowding the lecture hall was far more than he'd expected, but he was confident, at last, that his theories would find academic acceptance.   
  
He smiled brilliantly at the audience. Tiny snippets of information had been cast casually into the academic rumour mill, and the plan had obviously succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. So far. He cleared his throat. “As some of you will be aware, a serious mishap resulted in my temporary disappearance six months ago. And while I naturally regret any concerns that were caused by this, I can only say that, as an anthropologist, it was probably the most fortuitous broken leg I've ever suffered.”  
  
A small wave of laughter rippled around the room. He waited for it to die down before continuing. “I say fortuitous, because it allowed me not only to experience a tribal culture almost untouched by modern civilisation, but also to study, and work alongside of a man who is, quite simply, the living embodiment of a phenomenon I have believed in for many years, but which has been completely discounted as a myth for decades. In short, I found a living, practicing if you will, sentinel. A white man, living among the Chopec Indians, speaking only their language, and known to them as Enqueri.”   
  
This time, the gasps and murmured comments went on for almost a minute. Blair took the time to gulp down some water. His throat was already dry, and he still had a long way to go. This was going to be the best night of his career.  
  
***  
  
Two hours later, Blair was in no mood to re-evaluate that assessment. The question and answer session had gone on longer than he'd expected, but had been mostly positive. That was fine; he'd never expected to win over every critic on the strength of one lecture, but it had been a great start.  
  
He was packing his notes away when he noticed a wheelchair-bound man waiting in the wings of the small stage. It had to be Jack Kelso. Blair grinned, happy to have a friend he could talk over the evening's events with. Maybe have a beer or two to wind down. He shoved the folders into his backpack and went over to him.  
  
“Jack! Hey, it's good to see you.” Blair thrust out a hand to be shaken and was surprised to find it ignored. Jack stared up at him, his face frozen with what looked like suppressed fury. “Something wrong, man? I've been meaning to get in touch, but…”  
  
“But you've been busy.” Jack's voice was rough with anger. “Damn it, Blair, what the hell were you thinking? Do you have any idea what you've done?”  
  
“Well, for starters, I've proved that I was right all along to believe in the existence of sentinels.” Blair's voice rose angrily, but he didn't care. “What's so wrong about that?”  
  
“And what about your subject,  _professor_? Isn't the welfare of the subject meant to be paramount?”  
  
“Enqueri? What about him? He's in Peru. He's my friend.” Blair shrugged in irritation. Even now thoughts of Enqueri were painful. “I haven't done him any harm.”  
  
Jack glared at him. “How do you  _know_? Do you know how a white man ended up living among the Chopec? Did you even ask?”  
  
“Of course I did. He couldn't tell me.” Or wouldn't, perhaps. But that thought rankled; it didn't fit with the way he felt about Enqueri. They'd been friends, lovers – however briefly. Enqueri would have told him, if he'd been able to remember. “Like I said in the lecture, he'd been with them since he was a kid. He'd completely assimilated. I offered to help him find his family, but he didn't want to.”  
  
“Did it ever occur to you that there might be a reason for that?” Jack's voice was more moderate now. “Blair, I really think you've put this man in danger.”  
  
“No. I would never  _do_  that.” Blair looked down at Jack's upturned face. “Come on, Jack, what's this all about?”  
  
Jack sighed. “You'd better come back to my place. There's something I need to show you.”  
  
***  
  
Jack's study was large, crammed with books and papers and a big, old desk. Blair had spent some memorable hours there as a student, though he hadn't had a lot of spare time since graduating to visit with his old friend. If the situation had been different, he would have perched on the desk, or sat in the sturdy armchair and chattered about anything and everything. Instead he looked at Jack enquiringly and waited while the other man located a slim file in one of several filing cabinets.  
  
“Here.” Jack spun the wheelchair with practiced ease, the file on his lap, and propelled himself towards Blair. He offered him the file. “I'm pretty sure this is your man, and I'm not the only one who was in the audience tonight to think so. Whether he is or not, once those guys get their hands on him, he won't stand a chance.”  
  
“Jack, why should…” Blair flipped the cover of the file open and his voice died. There was a photo of a young boy – fair-haired, blue-eyed, about ten years old. There was an air of sadness that he'd seen on Enqueri's face occasionally. It might have been him; the boy's face still had the rounded softness of youth, but there was the hint of the same kind of strong, elegant lines that Enqueri possessed. It was the eyes, and the thin lipped, sensitive mouth that really reminded Blair of his friend, though. It could be him. Aware that his heart was beating uncomfortably hard, Blair looked at Jack's serious face and sank into a chair. James Joseph Ellison was the name on the file. “Why don't you tell me?”  
  
“He was a local kid. His family's still in Cascade, actually. That's one of the reasons I took an interest.” Jack wheeled himself behind his desk. “He got into the news because of a murder case – one of a series of murders. The killer was known as the Country Club Strangler, because of his choice of victims. Jimmy claimed to have seen the murderer, but from a distance of seventy-five yards. Even his own father didn't believe him.”  
  
“Not surprising.” Blair flipped through a couple of pages. There were newspaper clippings and a photo of the boy with his father, on their way into the Courthouse. “They found the killer?”  
  
“Yes. Somebody circulated Jimmy's description of the killer, in spite of the police's doubts about him.” Jack shrugged. “It was one of those pieces of serendipity. The same guy was seen hanging around the scene of the next attack. The police took him in for questioning and found a knife the killer had used to inflict wounds post-mortem. Jimmy had described a scent he'd noticed at the scene and it matched the oil used on the knife's handle. All the details are in there.”  
  
Blair nodded his understanding. “So, sight and smell… did he have all five senses?”  
  
“Yeah.” Jack stared down at his folded hands. “He was a nine day wonder, and then his father stamped down pretty hard on any more fuss over the boy. It all flared up again, of course, when the killer went on trial. It got into the national news that time. A couple of months later the boy disappeared.”  
  
“What?” Blair blinked in surprise. “It's a long way from Cascade to Peru, Jack. Believe me, I know.”  
  
“All of that is public record.” Jack waved a hand dismissively. “What very few people know is what happened to the boy after that.”  
  
“And you do.” Blair smiled faintly. “Do you know  _everything_ , Jack?”  
  
“Not hardly.” Jack's voice was dry. “I came across the information a few years ago, completely by chance. The CIA was investigating a group of… I suppose you could call them scientists. They were involved in a eugenics program, mostly using their own kids, but they'd also 'collected' a few outsiders. Jimmy Ellison was one of them.”  
  
“Kidnapping?” Blair leaned forward, his face intent. “What happened?”  
  
Jack's lip curled. “Oh, the usual. The Agency decided it could use what they were doing, and turned a blind eye to some of the less savoury aspects.”  
  
“But kidnapping?” It seemed impossible, even though by now he should know better. “What about the boy?”  
  
“He was already gone.” Jack took a deep breath. “The Center, as they called themselves, had decided that the best use for a child with enhanced senses was to train him as an assassin. Between the ages of twelve and fifteen, he killed at least eighteen men.” He paused as Blair made a sickened sound. “But, get this – he disappeared while on an assignment in Peru. According to the records they'd been keeping on him, he'd been increasingly restless, showing signs of thinking too much for himself. One day, he was in Lima, staking out his next target, the next he was simply gone. With the training and his sensory abilities, they had no chance of finding him.”  
  
“Oh, god. It all fits.” Blair rubbed his hand over his mouth, feeling sick. “When was this?”  
  
“Mid Seventy-eight.” Jack frowned slightly. “He'd be thirty-seven now.”  
  
Blair looked at the photo again. It had to be… and fair-haired kids often turned dark-haired as they grew older. “That poor kid. No wonder he's repressed it all.” He looked up into Jack's level stare. “And you think they'll go looking for him again?”  
  
“I saw at least two people from the Center in the audience tonight.” Jack shrugged. “I doubt they were there out of intellectual curiosity.”  
  
“Then I have to go back.” The decision was easy, Blair found. “I have to warn him.”  
  
***  
  
The house was imposing, if you were the type to be impressed by ostentation with little real elegance. Blair wasn't impressed. He pushed the doorbell firmly and when the door opened, tried not to let his shock show too obviously on his face. Mr Ellison had the same angular features as Enqueri, thinner, more lined, but there was a definite resemblance. Blair stammered out his greeting and followed the older man inside.  
  
“Come through here.” Ellison led the way into a large parlour with expensive furniture and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “This is my son, Stephen.”  
  
He couldn't help it. Blair stared openly at the other man. He was younger, of course, but there was little doubt that this man was Enqueri's brother. The familial resemblance between the three men was strong. So was the air of suspicion that hung around the father and son.  
  
“Look, I'm sure you've had your share of weirdoes and charlatans, so the first thing I want to do is show you a drawing I made of Enqueri while I was still in Peru.” He pulled the sheet of paper out of his folder and held it out. “I wasn't sure myself until I saw the two of you, but now…”  
  
Two heads bent over the paper, one grey, and the other dark. Two wary pairs of eyes lifted to meet his own. It was Stephen who spoke. “I don't suppose you have any photographs?”  
  
“My camera was broken. I had to sketch as best I could.” Blair smiled deprecatingly. “I got better, but that was the best I managed. It doesn't really do him justice, but it's a reasonable likeness.”  
  
Father and son looked at each other, not yet willing to hope. Ellison Snr cleared his throat. “Did he… did he say  _anything_  about his life here? His family?”  
  
“I'm sorry. He said he didn't remember anything about before he was with the Chopec. He's happy there, with them. He's needed, respected. I tried to talk him into coming back with me, but he wasn't interested.” Blair smiled at them sympathetically. “Jack told you about what happened? About the files he found?”  
  
Ellison nodded. “It was why I told him not to…” he choked, his voice angry. “I kept telling him, but he didn't  _listen_.”  
  
“He wanted to do what was right, Dad.” Stephen spoke soothingly. This was obviously an exchange they'd had many times. “He wanted to help catch Bud's murderer.”  
  
“And look where it got him.” The older man turned away, his shoulders bowed.  
  
“Mr Ellison, I think Enqueri – Jimmy – is in danger again, from the same people who kidnapped him before.” This was the crux of his visit. He could go back to Peru to warn his friend and the Chopec, but he couldn't do much to help them, if the people from the Center went after him.  
  
The tall, lean figure straightened and turned back. “What do you want?”  
  
“Your help. Jack Kelso told me you had influential friends.” Blair swallowed painfully. “You can help me bring your son back to Cascade.”  
  
***  
  
Things moved swiftly after that. Within two days, Blair was on a plane headed for Lima, with everything he needed to return to the Chopec village. William Ellison's money had paid for the flight, and provided money for a helicopter pilot to take him up to the Chopec Pass. From there, he'd be able to find his own way to the village and, hopefully, persuade Enqueri – Jim – to leave.   
  
If everything went according to plan the Ellisons would meet them back in Lima with all the paperwork that would be needed to take Jim back to Cascade. Mr Ellison had already contacted the State Department and the Embassy in Lima, to get the ball rolling.  
  
There wasn't any time to waste; as soon as he arrived in Lima Blair went to the Police – Ellison had gotten the name of a police captain, Ernesto Sandoval, from someone in the PD back in Cascade. It only took a couple of hours for Sandoval to find a pilot who would fly Blair into the jungle and wait for him to return with Enqueri.   
  
That, at least, was the plan.  
  
“What do you mean you're not landing?” Blair voice sharpened with anger. “We have a deal, man. Sandoval…”  
  
“I don't care about Sandoval. You didn't tell me this area was crawling with guerrillas.” The pilot's voice sounded weird in his headset. Somehow Blair doubted he'd care that it was most likely the Center's operatives down there, and not guerrillas. “If you want to go in there you can jump, but I'm not setting down and I'm not waiting. You find your own way back, señor.”  
  
“Jump?” Blair's voice cracked. Even before that fall he'd taken six months ago he'd had problems with heights. “Are you crazy?”  
  
“Me? Usted es el loco, señor.” The pilot grinned at him. “I'll take you down low, you'll only have to jump a few feet. Okay?”  
  
Not really, Blair thought, but he shrugged and agreed.  
  
“We'll be there soon, amigo. Better get ready.”  
  
“Great,” Blair muttered. “All I need is another broken leg…” He hefted his backpack, wishing he'd known he was going to be abandoned in the jungle when he'd packed it. He wasn't much better supplied than he had been the last time.  
  
He felt better when he saw the clearing. Even from the air it looked familiar; he was pretty sure he could get to the village from there. He hoped. It was either that or make enough noise crashing around that Enqueri would hear him and come looking.  
  
The thought of seeing Enqueri again was enough to bolster his determination. The helicopter swooped down to hover about four feet off the ground. Blair swallowed the lump in his throat and dropped his pack over the side. “Drop and roll,” he muttered; it sounded easy enough, in theory. At that moment, the helicopter shuddered and Blair practically fell off his perch.   
  
He landed with a thump, but it wasn't too bad. For a moment he just lay staring up at the receding shape of the helicopter. Then the clatter of automatic fire made him flinch. He rolled to his feet, grabbed his pack and ran, crouching low. He'd barely reached the shelter of the trees when the shockwave of an explosion sent him tumbling. He looked back in time to see a fireball above the trees and debris flying in every direction.  
  
“Oh my god…” but there wasn't time to think about the pilot, or the danger he was in. Blair hugged the small pack to his chest and ran.  
  
***  
  
It took nearly three hours to reach the village; longer than Blair had expected, and he had the feeling he'd doubled back a few times. When he finally found a familiar landmark – a tree broken and blackened by a long ago lightning strike – he heaved a sigh of relief and broke into a tired trot. Soon after that, he caught the first whiff of smoke.  
  
The village was a smouldering ruin. Blair stood in the shade of the jungle on the edge of what used to be the main square of the village and stared at the blackened stakes that were all that remained of the huts. Smashed gourds and pots, charred cloth, woven matting and wooden implements were strewn everywhere. Just inside the shelter of the trees to his left were body-sized earthen mounds.  
  
Blair closed his eyes in horror. “This is my fault. This is all my  _fault_!” His voice broke on the last word and he had to stop, pressing his lips together and forcing himself into some semblance of control.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, Enqueri was standing on the opposite side of the square, watching him from beside the remains of a charred hut. He looked worn, exhausted, and he was wearing the kilt he only donned when travelling outside the village. He must have been on a hunting trip when the village was attacked Blair thought, with a rush of relief so intense it left him light-headed.  
  
Was it so wrong to feel such relief in knowing that the one person he cared about more than any other in this village had survived? Blair decided he didn't care. If it meant he was selfish, then so be it; but his heart skipped a beat at the sight of his friend.   
  
“Blair.” Enqueri crossed the clearing in half a dozen long strides as Blair went forward to meet him. “Chaska, you came back.”  
  
His voice was filled with a sombre joy. Blair stared up at him, wondering how long that emotion would last, once he knew what Blair had done. He caught Enqueri's hand as it lifted to touch his cheek. “No. I have to tell you something.”  
  
“Tell me.” Intent blue eyes never wavered from his face.  
  
“I told some people about… about you. About your powers.” Blair swallowed and closed his eyes again briefly. But he had to look, to see how Enqueri reacted. “And I found out about a boy who was taken away from his father and forced to… to kill people. A boy who ran away and was never seen again.”  
  
The elegant planes of Enqueri's face might have been carved from granite. Blair forced himself to continue. “Some of the people, the ones I told… they knew that boy. They were the ones who… who… I'm sorry, I'm  _so sorry_! I had no idea who they were. You have to believe I would  _never_ …”  
  
The blank look was gone now; replaced by a fury that Blair had seen directed at him by only one other person – Jack Kelso. Large hands that had always touched him gently now took hold of his shirt in a relentless grip and forced him stumbling backwards to the jungle's edge. “You sent these ones? You?”  
  
“I… yes! But I swear, I didn't  _know_!” Blair scrabbled for a hold on the solid forearms, needing something, anything to steady himself. Instead he was lifted, slammed back against a tree trunk. His head bounced off the rough surface and his vision greyed for a moment. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he told himself that he deserved this. Deserved anything that Enqueri or the tribal elders wanted to do to him. “I didn't know who they were. I didn't know who  _you_  are.”  
  
“Who I am?” Enqueri hissed the word through clenched teeth, and shook him, before releasing him so suddenly he nearly fell. “You do not know me. You do not know  _anything_.”   
  
“I know. I know who you are.” Blair rallied all his courage as Enqueri backed away. “You're James Joseph Ellison…”  
  
“No!” He roared his rage and denial, “Enqueri! I am Enqueri!”  
  
“James… Jimmy, please…” god, this was terrible, but he had to break through the walls of forgetfulness the other man had erected around those fearful memories. “I came back to warn you. To try to help…” No. He had to try something else. Try to get through to him. “Your father is William Ellison…” another cry of rage made him flinch. “You have a brother – Stephen – I've met them, Jim…” Already thinned lips curled into a snarl. “They know. They know what you did. What the Center did to you; what they  _made_  you do. They want you to come back, Jim.”  
  
“No.” Enqueri's head shook from side to side. Tears glistened in his eyes but didn't fall. “No! I am Enqueri… Enqueri.”  
  
“They love you. They've missed you for so long, Jim. Your father's an old man.” Blair could feel tears gathering in his own eyes. He hated this, hated having to hurt this man; but it was the only way to get through to him. “Your brother's grown. He's married, with a seven-year-old daughter. You're James Joseph Ellison and you're a sentinel and you were trained as an assassin by the men who did this to your people.”  
  
Enqueri stumbled backwards, raw pain distorting his face. “Please…”  
  
“You killed eighteen men. You were good, Jim, maybe the best assassin there ever was.” Blair swallowed down the rising nausea in his gut. “That's why they want to find you again. They'll never stop. They'll find you and they'll make you kill again.”  
  
“No!” It was a howl of anguish, primal and raw. Enqueri flung his head back and screamed. But it was Jim Ellison who stared at him from the haunted eyes. His arm swept around, knocking Blair off his feet and propelling him into the tree trunk, with a strength born of desperation.  
  
***  
  
Sweat trickled down his cheek, tickling; annoying. Blair roused himself enough to brush at it, still too groggy to feel surprise at being alive. He forced his eyes open and saw a dark, painted face hovering above his own. “Incacha!”  
  
“You are more trouble than the young ones.” Incacha's face split into a wide grin. “It is very good to see you, Pelair.”  
  
“It's good to see you too.” Belatedly, Blair realised that Incacha had been trickling water from a large, vivid green leaf over his face. He licked his lips and swallowed painfully. “Where's… uh…”  
  
“Enqueri is over there.” Blair followed Incacha's gesture with his eyes. “He is sorry that he hurt you.”  
  
“Is he?” Somehow, Blair doubted it, but another look gave him second thoughts. He'd never seen Enqueri look like this, sitting on a fallen tree trunk, his muscular body stooped and dejected, his head hanging low, so that the long strands of hair veiled his face. “Did he tell you…?”  
  
Incacha nodded sombrely. If he still nurtured any hard feelings toward Blair, they didn't show. “All is as it was destined to be, Pelair. You must do what is yours to do and so must Enqueri. Go to him.”  
  
He stood, and then had to hold onto Incacha's arm until the forest stopped dancing around him. As soon as he could, Blair walked across the clearing. “Jim.”  
  
The dark head lifted. Unbearable grief haunted his eyes. “I am Enqueri.”  
  
Blair dropped awkwardly to his knees in front of his friend. “Jim. I know what they did to you. I know they'll stop at nothing to get hold of you again. We have to…”  
  
“I will not fight them.” There was no hint of irresolution in those eyes. “I will not kill.”  
  
“Then they will kill your tribe. Is that what you want?” Blair saw the flinch in his face. “They'll kill anybody,  _do_ anything to have someone with your powers in their control. They will  _make_  you kill. Innocent people, Jim. Which is better?”  
  
“I will not. Not even to save you.”  
  
It was an unconventional declaration of love, but none the less moving. “Oh, Jim…” Blair leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. “You may not have to kill anyone. You could…”  
  
“No.” His voice was soft, almost regretful. “I will not fight.”   
  
“God, Jim, I respect that. I really do, but this is life or death here.” Blair thrust a shaking hand into his hair and pushed it back away from his face. “Is it so hard for you to fight that you'll just sit back and let them destroy everyone you care about?”  
  
“It's not hard.” Jim's voice dropped to a whisper. “It's easy. So easy to kill. That's what they taught me.”  
  
He stared up into a face so filled with devastation that it took away his ability to breathe for a moment. Then Blair reached up and drew Jim's head down against his shoulder and held him there. “We'll find another way. It'll be all right. I promise.”   
  
***  
  
The women and children had been captured, Blair soon learned, along with most of the older men. Some of the warriors had been away from the village hunting or scouting, Incacha and Jim among them, but scarcely more than a handful remained free. About twenty of the Chopec had been killed in the initial attack, including Yachay.  
  
“Oh, god… 'queri, why? She was too old to fight.” Blair thought his heart would break.  
  
“Rumi saw it. He said she tried to take one of the strangers with his own knife.” Jim smiled faintly. “She had the heart of a warrior, that one.”  
  
“Yes, she did.” Blair sighed and leaned into Jim for a moment's comfort. “The spirits grant her peace.”  
  
“Ay,” came the soft assent from Jim and Incacha.  
  
“Okay, we need a plan. These people must realise that someone will come looking for me.” Blair closed his eyes, thinking of the helicopter pilot. “They'll know there isn't a lot of time left. A day, maybe two. And they're completely ruthless.”  
  
Incacha nodded. Blair had already told him all he knew about what the Center had done to Jim and his eyes had glittered with hard anger. “We will join our warriors. They aren't far away.” He smiled slyly, throwing a teasing glance in Jim's direction. “Enqueri insisted we had to come here.”  
  
“I'm glad he did.” Blair smiled at Jim, aware that there was some kind of undercurrent here, but not understanding it. “Incacha, I found Enqueri's father and brother, they live near my home. They want Enqueri to return to them.”  
  
“No!” Jim looked up from contemplation of the ground. He was still looking shaken, his usual air of composure had deserted him entirely. “My place is here.”  
  
“As long as you stay here, people like these…” Blair gestured around the clearing, at a loss for words to encompass the enormity of what had happened, “…they're going to keep coming back. The Chopec will never be safe.  _You'll_  never be safe.”  
  
Jim glared at him. “I will not leave.”  
  
“Stop.” Incacha's command caught Blair with his mouth half open ready to argue the point. He closed his jaw with a snap. “You will not fight about this. First we must save our people. Only then we will know what the spirits want us to do.”  
  
It was a timely reminder of their situation. Blair heaved a sigh and swiped his hand over his hair, dragging it back from his face and retying the ponytail. “All right. Let's get going.”  
  
***  
  
“The Yanquis have set up camp here.” Mallku placed a ragged X on the map he'd sketched in the dirt. “There are only eight of them, but they have powerful weapons.”  
  
Blair, squatting between Incacha and Jim and surrounded by the remaining warriors, nodded. Bows and arrows, knives and blowpipes couldn't stand up to automatic weapons. “You won't be able to beat them in a straight out fight.”  
  
“We'll go by night and pick them off one by one.” Incacha glanced around the circle of faces. The young men nodded grimly. “Enqueri will help us. He'll find the location of the Yanquis.”  
  
“I'm coming too,” Blair said softly. “I know I'm not a warrior, but I can help with the hostages.”  
  
The others grinned approvingly and those in reach slapped him on the shoulder. Only Jim looked unhappy, but he didn't say anything.  
  
“Then it is decided.” Mallku stood, stretching. “We'll leave just before sunset. Until then, prepare as many arrows and darts you can. Pelair, I will speak with you.”  
  
Blair remained behind as the others moved away. Jim was one of the last to go, looking back reluctantly over his shoulder. “Incacha told me you came in one of the metal birds.”  
  
So, the shaman knew about the helicopter? Blair had glossed over that part. “Yes, but it was destroyed.”   
  
Mallku looked hopeful. “Will your friends seek you out? Would they help us save our people?”  
  
“They might, if they knew what was happening, but…” Blair shrugged unhappily, “it'll be at least a couple of days before they can get here. Maybe longer. Can we wait that long?”  
  
“No.” The old man looked bleak. “The Yanquis have already killed some of the hostages. I think they will kill more of them if Enqueri doesn't surrender to them.” He sighed. “I haven't told him yet, but soon he will know.”  
  
“He'll give himself up to save them.” Blair grabbed Mallku's arm, forgetting the respect he was due. “He mustn't find out. You don't know what they would do to him.”  
  
“Enqueri is a good man, almost like a son to me, but if he is the price I must pay to save my people…” Mallku sighed heavily. “I pray to the spirits that this choice will never be placed before me.”  
  
***  
  
They left the makeshift camp in late afternoon. Since they didn't dare to follow any of the established trails, their pace was slow and it was already growing dark as they approached the clearing where the kidnappers were encamped.   
  
Suddenly, Jim stopped in his tracks, causing Blair to run into him. “What is it?” Blair whispered. He felt Jim's shudder against the hand he'd laid on the healer's back.  
  
“Death.” Another tremor ran through him. “I smell death.”  
  
“You can't let that distract you now.” Blair swallowed rising nausea, though he couldn't smell anything but the ripe odour of decomposing plant material. “You have to focus on listening for the enemy.”  
  
Jim's head dipped in acknowledgement. “This way.”  
  
They slipped through more underbrush, while Blair concentrated on making as little noise as possible. Jim could move as silently as any of the Chopec, and by comparison, his own steps sounded like a herd of rhino. Behind him, Rumi drifted like a shadow. The young warrior had been knocked out and left for dead in the initial assault on the village. Since Jim had diagnosed him with a concussion, he'd been assigned to help Jim and Blair instead of taking a more active part in the rescue.  
  
Finally, they reached a point where – in theory, at least – Jim would be able to see the enemy camp. Blair could barely see a yard front of his face, so he had to take that on faith. He settled beside Jim and laid a hand on his shoulder again.   
  
It was something he'd seen Incacha, and sometimes some of the other Chopec, do in the past when Jim had used his senses more intensely than usual. Apparently, it helped Jim to focus and not get lost in his senses and Blair's assigned role in tonight's rescue was to provide that anchor. Rumi's was to protect them both and act as a go-between if needed.  
  
He felt a subtle change in the tension of Jim's body and realised that he was doing something – listening, maybe using his sight, he wasn't sure. Then the healer hissed under his breath.   
  
“What is it?” Blair rubbed his hand lightly over Jim's shoulder.  
  
“Bodies. Three bodies… Maywa, Atuq, and Kusi.” Blair heard him mutter a soft curse then take a deep breath. “Most of the tribe are in the middle tent. There are some wounded among them. There are three Yanquis in the tent with them. They have guns.”  
  
Behind them Rumi made a series of clicks and whistles, which Blair knew was some kind of code used in hunting and battle. He must be passing on the information to the other warriors, even though, to Blair's untrained ears, they sounded no different to the normal sounds of the jungle at night.   
  
“The small tent, on the right… two more men.” Jim cocked his head slightly and Blair saw a frown on his face. “The third tent… I can't hear… there's nobody there, but I smell guns. A lot of guns.”  
  
“Maybe our warriors could take some of them,” Rumi whispered. Jim nodded uncertainly.  
  
While Rumi conveyed the message, Blair concentrated on Jim. “Are there any other Yanquis in the area?”  
  
“Two men, patrolling. The scouts will hear them easily enough.” Jim's voice was scornful and in spite of the seriousness of the situation, Blair grinned.  
  
A moment later, Blair heard some more sounds that might have been signals. His guess was confirmed when Jim and Rumi grunted softly in approval. “What is it?”  
  
It was Rumi who answered: “They have taken the two guards and are going to the tent where the guns are.”  
  
“Good, good.” Blair felt relief wash over him. So far, everything was going well. They might just do this. “What's happening in the main tent?”  
  
“Nothing. The Chopec are quiet. They must have heard the signals.” Jim stiffened under Blair's hand. “The guards in there… there's something wrong…”  
  
At that moment all hell broke loose. A sharp crack made Jim flinch. But, worse, a flare went up in a trail of acrid smoke and then burst into a blinding white light. At the same time, gunfire broke out, astonishingly loud in the quiet night, until Blair realised it was more than just gunfire. The kidnappers had let off some kind of firecrackers, he guessed, from the stink of gunpowder being carried to them on the breeze.  
  
Jim collapsed to the ground, his eyes squeezed shut, hands over his ears. Blair could see him clearly in the white-hot light of the flare. He flung himself down, trying to shield the healer from the harsh glare with his body, though he could do nothing about the noise except to close his hands over Jim's. He pulled Jim's face against his chest, feeling the wetness of Jim's tears soak through his shirt and his own eyes were stinging and watering uncontrollably.  
  
Another flare went up, and more firecrackers exploded, sending pungent smoke drifting downwind – directly into their faces. It seemed like an eternity that he crouched there, holding Jim and feeling him gasping and shuddering with pain. Gradually the shudders grew less intense, and then Jim pulled away from him, blinking rapidly in the still too bright light. “Where's Rumi?”  
  
“He must have gone down to help the others.” Blair hadn't seen him go; he'd been too focused on Jim. “We'd better go find him. He won't be able to do anything on his own.”  
  
What the hell  _they_  were going to do, Blair had no idea. It was obvious, now, that the kidnappers had laid a trap; a trap specifically designed to neutralise a sentinel. He should have thought of that possibility sooner. How many Chopec had died because of his stupidity?  
  
He said nothing, though; there wasn't time right now for self-recrimination. They had to do something to help, and if Jim wasn't going to fight, that meant Blair would have to. Beside him, Jim was obviously trying to use his senses, though the noise of gunfire, the harsh light of the flares that continued to rise, and the acrid stench of chemicals and cordite must be creating havoc. Blair rubbed his hand lightly over Jim's shoulder and waited in frustrated helplessness for him to find something.  
  
Suddenly, the muscles under his hand tensed and Jim made a choked, painful sound. “Incacha…”   
  
He flung himself forward, rising from his crouch already running and Blair scrambled to follow. There were several times when Blair thought he'd lost Jim, but the healer was making little effort to move quietly and Blair always managed to pick up the trail again. He finally found Jim crouched between two leafy bushes cradling Incacha in his arms.  
  
It was bad; Blair could tell that much immediately. The residual stink of chemicals couldn't mask the overwhelming scent of blood. He crouched down beside the two men and saw blood welling from the wound beneath Jim's and Incacha's hands, pressed low against his belly. Blair's throat tightened painfully; even if there'd been a hospital nearby, it would have been touch and go. Here, in the jungle, there was nothing either he or Jim could do except stay with him while he died.  
  
Listening to Incacha's laboured breathing, seeing the pain and weakness in his face, Blair didn't think they'd have long to wait. Jim cast him a glance full of desperate anguish, then looked down at his friend again. “Incacha.”  
  
The shaman roused a little, his eyes fluttering and then opening fully. He managed a weak smile for them both. “Don't grieve. The spirits told me of this months ago.”  
  
“No.” Jim's voice was shaking. “No. We need you, the tribe needs you.”  
  
Incacha's head rolled slowly from side to side. “It is you the tribe needs, Enqueri. You must become a sentinel once again, to save the tribe.”  
  
“He's right, Jim.” Blair raised his eyes from Incacha's face. Jim was shaking his head, a look of horror on his face. “You're the only hope we have of beating these guys.”  
  
“And you… you must guide him, Pelair.” Incacha's eyes fixed on his, glittering with determination. Somehow, he found the strength to grab Blair's arm in his bloodied hand and press it to Jim's forearm. “I pass the way of the shaman to you.”  
  
“What? No… I mean, how?” Panic flared through him and he looked up into Jim's distraught face. “Jim, how do I… ? I don't know how to do that.” He felt, as much as heard, Incacha's breath go out of him in a long sigh. Across Incacha's body, his eyes met Jim's, seeing the same pain and confusion that he felt himself.  
  
***  
  
“Jim, what are you doing?” Blair raised his head to watch as Jim stripped the weapons from Incacha's body. The last flare had gone out a while ago, but the jungle's canopy was thinner here and the moon was full. He could see well enough.  
  
Jim's face was blank, set in hard lines, and he barely glanced at Blair. “I'm doing what you and Incacha have asked of me. I will become a sentinel again and save the tribe.”   
  
Jim inspected Incacha's long knife almost casually and slipped it beneath the cord that held his kilt in place without bothering with the sheath. Next he lifted Incacha's blowpipe and the small kit of darts. They would be tipped with a paralytic, Blair knew, one strong enough to kill. Suddenly, seeing Jim's eerily calm manner, Blair began to doubt the wisdom of what he'd asked of him.  
  
“Look… 'queri… maybe we should think about this.” He licked his bottom lip nervously. For the first time he could imagine Jim as a killer, and it was an unpleasant experience. “Maybe there's some other…”  
  
“No.” Jim rose to his feet. “Stay here. If I don't come back, then you should travel east. The Yurua will not take you in. Better to chance the jungle and hope your friends can find you.”  
  
“Incacha said…” He hesitated as Jim flinched, then ploughed on, doggedly determined. “…he said I'm your guide. I'm coming with you.”  
  
“No!” The anger in Jim's voice was all the more intimidating for the complete lack of expression on his face. “Incacha was wrong. Just as he was wrong before. You left and yet I came to no harm. I do not need a guide.”  
  
“Wait. What do you mean, I left?” Blair caught Jim's arm as he turned away. When he got no response other than an impatient look, he forced himself to think; remembering Incacha's reaction when he realised they'd had sex. “Is that what Incacha was so mad about? Oh, god, and those warnings…”  
  
“It was nothing. He was wrong.” Jim glanced down at Incacha's body almost apologetically. “I don't need you, and you can't move quietly enough. Even a Yanqui would hear you coming.”  
  
The comment hurt, not because it was unfair; Blair knew it wasn't. It was the dismissive tone that stung, and was meant to, he thought. He bit back a caustic reply and nodded reluctantly. “All right. I'll stay here.”  
  
What the hell had he and Incacha unleashed?  
  
***   
  
He must have crouched there beside Incacha's body for hours, but Blair had no idea how long it really was. For the first time in his life, Blair could truly appreciate the myths that so many cultures had of heroes who brought light to the world and conquered the night. It was truly beginning to seem like this night would never end.  
  
Every so often, he heard outbreaks of automatic weapons fire and sometimes cries of pain or yelling, but they were infrequent enough. None of them sounded particularly close to where he was hiding and he was lulled into a false sense of security, which evaporated suddenly when he heard footsteps approaching.  
  
Blair was no sentinel, and not nearly as experienced as the Chopec hunters, but even he could tell the difference between the sandals the Chopec wore and the boots of a Yanqui. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head over his raised knees.  _Please… please just let him keep going._  
  
The footsteps stopped. The silence was terrifying; even the slightest movement could give him away. Blair felt the almost irresistible urge to cough and choked it back, swallowing furiously, his eyes watering with the effort. Slowly, far more slowly than they'd arrived, the footsteps moved away and Blair slumped in exhausted relief.   
  
He might have dozed after that, for a while at least, but he startled awake at the sound of more footsteps. When they, too, receded he thought seriously about moving further away from the camp, but he had no idea in what direction it lay; he decided reluctantly that it was safer to stay where Jim would expect to find him.  
  
Several times more, he heard people moving close by but nobody came as close as that first time, and Blair began to feel somewhat more secure. He slept again, and woke with a shock of terror when somebody's hand came down on his shoulder and dragged him, struggling, out from the shelter of the bushes. One squawk of alarm escaped him but then he clamped his mouth shut. It could only bring unwelcome attention, and if it was Jim then they'd both be screwed.  
  
That small hope was speedily quashed. This man was shorter than Jim, and wiry, and looking extremely pissed off. There was a dark patch on the sleeve of his shirt, which was probably blood. Blair took one look at the automatic rifle that pointed at his chest and subsided, raising his hands in surrender.  
  
“Stand up.” The man's face gave no inclination of what he intended. It could be a summary execution, for all Blair knew. He rose slowly, looking for any weakness he could exploit. As a last resort he could simply run for it and risk a bullet in his back, but there was little hope of escape that way.  
  
The rifle's barrel twitched, indicating direction, and Blair started walking. Every so often a shove on his left or right shoulder would guide him and after ten to fifteen minutes walking, he saw lights through the thinning trees. They'd arrived at the kidnappers' encampment.  
  
***  
  
Light was finally beginning to filter into the tent when the guard came for Blair. He felt like he'd been there for hours, unable to sleep and isolated from the Chopec, who he could occasionally hear in the larger tent beside his. He tried to cooperate as best he could as the guard dragged him to his feet – it wasn't going to do him any good to have a dislocated shoulder, after all.   
  
As he stumbled before the guard on numbed legs, Blair wondered what was going to happen now. Interrogation? Torture? Death? On the other hand, breakfast would be nice, he thought, without much hope. Just coffee, even…   
  
From the corner of his eye, he saw the pile of bodies, mere shadowy outlines, but it sobered him immediately. He kept his focus resolutely forward; he didn't want to recognise anyone he knew and cared about, not when he was completely impotent to do anything about it. For now, he needed to conserve his energy for whatever lay ahead.  
  
He was ushered into a tent that was considerably more luxurious than the one he'd left. There was a woven rug on the floor and a couple of folding chairs. At the back was a cot with a sleeping bag and a small stand holding a water flask and a plate with a half eaten sandwich. Blair was seriously debating finishing off the sandwich – how long had it been since he'd eaten anyway? He couldn't remember – when the tent flap lifted and a man walked in.  
  
For a moment it was all he could do not to laugh aloud – the guy was wearing immaculately pressed khakis and a thin white shirt. He stood just inside the tent, left hand in his jacket pocket, the right holding some kind of riding crop, tapping negligently against his thigh. All he needed was a pith helmet and he'd be the epitome of the Great White Hunter. Blair had been on expeditions with guys like that and invariably they were so far up their own asses, it'd take spelunking equipment to find them.  
  
Something of his thoughts must have shown on Blair's face, because a frown scattered the urbane expression. The newcomer's voice was decidedly caustic when he spoke. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr Sandburg.”  
  
Blair knew how to play this game. He frowned and pouted. “ _Dr_  Sandburg, if you don't mind. I take it you're from the Center? Was it your men who shot down my helicopter?”  
  
“Of course.” He seemed amused by Blair's questions. “I apologise for the inconvenience, but you can't make omelettes without breaking eggs. Needs must when the devil drives.” He shrugged, nonchalantly. “ _You_  were never in any danger; in fact your arrival was quite convenient. You can call me Mr Lyle.”  
  
Blair shrugged, letting his face fall into lines of irritation. “You can't honestly think you'll get away with this. I may have come on ahead, but the rest of my people will be here soon.” Or Jim would hear him and come to his rescue. If he was still alive.  
  
“I really don't care. All I need is Ellison and I'll be leaving.” Lyle smiled unpleasantly. “That's where you come in.” He took his left hand out of his pocket, and Blair saw with a brief shock, that the thumb was missing from that hand.   
  
It wasn't a good time for Blair to notice the anticipatory gleam in Lyle's eyes. He obviously enjoyed his work. Trying to finesse him wasn't going to work. Blair dropped the attitude and spoke bluntly. “You must be out of your mind if you think I'm going to help you get Jim. Think again.”  
  
“Oh, I think you'll do anything I want you to do.” Lyle advanced on him and Blair found himself backing away. There was something very scary about this guy. Then he stopped and, with another abrupt change in manner, smiled charmingly. “It's in everyone's interest for you to cooperate. You don't want us to start killing the natives again, do you?”  
  
“You're wasting your time.” Blair shook his head. “He won't kill for you. You don't know Jim like I do.”   
  
“I'm sure I don't.” Lyle's smile widened spitefully. “But that's not your concern, Sandburg. I'm sure I'll find a way to make use of him.” He reached out and grabbed the front of Blair's shirt with his left hand. The lack of a thumb didn't seem to cause him any problem at all. “How about you just come with me now? I don't require you to be conscious, and my men would be more than willing to persuade you, but that's really not necessary, is it?”   
  
Blair swallowed. “No.”  
  
Lyle dragged him outside, a firm grip on his shirt, and out into the clearing in front of the tents. While they'd been talking the light had been growing stronger so that it was now possible to see the pile of bodies near the trail leading into the camp. Blair frowned; those bodies didn't look…  
  
One of Lyle's men cursed suddenly. “That's Hernando! And Felipe… dios!”  
  
The others waiting outside Lyle's tent turned to look, anger and fear on their faces. Somehow, during the night the Chopec bodies had been removed and replaced by at least six kidnappers, stripped naked and very dead.  
  
“It doesn't matter,” Lyle snapped. “Ellison will come in to protect his little friend here. Juan, your weapon.”  
  
One of the men handed over his automatic rifle reluctantly. “But what of the other Indios, Señor Lyle?”  
  
Lyle didn't appear to like being questioned by one of his own men. “They won't care once they've got their own back. Besides, they're only primitives.”  
  
Blair thought, mordantly, that the “primitives” had held out pretty well against superior weaponry. If it hadn't been for that trap… “How did you hide your men from Jim? He should have been able to hear them in that tent.”  
  
Lyle smirked, caught off guard by the question. “I had a white noise generator in there, and of course, the gun oil masked their body odour. They're really quite rank.”  
  
Jesus, he hadn't thought of that. But he supposed it was the kind of thing the Center would know – how to confuse a sentinel's abilities as well as how to use them. His train of thought derailed suddenly as Lyle shoved the barrel of his weapon against Blair's temple. “Call him, Mr Sandburg. Unless you feel you only need half a brain to function. But do remember that Hernando speaks Quechua. Not as fluently as you, perhaps, but well enough.”  
  
He thought about refusing, even then, but he wasn't quite ready to die. Besides, there was no guarantee at all that Jim would respond. “Jim? They want you to come in.”  
  
“Tell him we'll start killing his friends if he doesn't.” The barrel jabbed at his temple to underscore the threat.  
  
“They say they'll kill the hostages, Jim.” Blair swallowed, “I haven't seen them, but I've heard them. They're still alive. Some of them anyway.”  
  
A mutter from some of the men made Blair look over at them, and then, following their gaze, and the slant of their weapons, at the edge of the clearing. Jim stood there, still as a statue, the automatic rifle in his hands held like he knew exactly how to use it.  
  
He looked different. It wasn't just the dark smears across his body, arms and face, a lot like the camouflage that soldiers wore. There was something in the way that he stood; something in his eyes. And then he started forward, sleek and silent in his movements. Deadly.   
  
In that moment Blair was more afraid of Jim than he was of any of his captors. _Oh, god, what have I done?_  
  
Jim passed the pile of bodies without a second's hesitation. They might as well not have been there. Halfway across the clearing, he stopped. Nobody moved for the space of several heartbeats.  
  
Blair was hardly aware of the weapon aimed at him, but he repeated Lyle's command: “Put the gun down, Jim.”  
  
Jim's head moved, infinitesimally, but the answer was clear. No. “Tell him to release the Chopec.”  
  
“Let the tribe go, man. He won't surrender until they're free.” He felt Lyle hesitate. “He's a sentinel, it's his job to protect the tribe. You'll still have me.”  
  
“It doesn't work that way, Sandburg.” Lyle was practically vibrating with energy. He wanted to kill, and probably didn't much care who it was; but he needed Jim.  
  
“You men, if you leave now my warriors will allow you to go.” Jim's voice carried across the clearing, calm and easy as if he was offering a bowl of kuka tea.  
  
Blair heard Hernando muttering in Spanish, repeating the offer, and the others shuffled nervously, looking across at Lyle. It was obvious they feared him almost as much as the Chopec. Suddenly, one of the men grabbed at his neck. Blair saw a small dart, painted in coloured stripes, protruding from his neck. The man's eyes widened and then he fell, making small choking noises. He hit the ground, shuddered a couple of times and then went limp.  
  
“Señor Lyle, we must…”  
  
“No!” Lyle's voice wasn't so confident now. He shook Blair awkwardly. “Tell him the next time one of my men dies, I'll haul out three of his stinking friends and shoot them in front of him.”  
  
“Enqueri, you should kill this man. If you do the others will run.” Blair swallowed, seeing Hernando eyeing him uncertainly. “Do it now.”  
  
Without a moment's hesitation, the rifle in Jim's hands came up. Blair felt Lyle stiffen and tried to pull free of him, to give Jim as clear a shot as possible. He saw Jim fire and heard a deafening explosion beside his ear. Pain sliced through his head as he fell.  
  
***  
  
When Blair opened his eyes, he realised immediately he was inside a tent, lying on a cot. Oh god… had Jim missed his shot? Was he dead or wounded? Blair struggled up onto his elbow, cursing softly at the pain that flared through him. But the first person he saw grinned reassuringly at him.   
  
Rumi turned to the tent's opening and leaned out. “Enqueri! He's awake.”  
  
Blair flopped back with a groan of relief and closed his eyes. He ran curious fingers over his temple, flinching when they brushed against a small patch of gauze. Something that small shouldn't hurt so damned much. A hand touched his arm and he opened his eyes reluctantly. Then he smiled. “Hey.”  
  
Jim looked only slightly the worse for wear. He had a gauze bandage around his upper arm, and there were some scratches on his chest, arms and face. Nothing worse than that, but his eyes were cold and empty and he didn't return Blair's smile. “Are you able to travel? We should leave soon, before the Yanquis return.”  
  
“I guess I can.” Blair forced himself to sit up and bit back another groan. At least that meant Jim hadn't killed them all. “You think they'll come back?”  
  
“The weapons are valuable, aren't they?” Jim waited for his assent before continuing, “They will return when their greed overcomes their fear.”  
  
“Maybe we can do something about that. Help me up, will you?” He managed to stay on his feet with Jim's assistance. It was all too familiar and yet completely different. The man at his side was not the man he'd known so well all those months ago.  
  
Outside, the remnants of the Chopec were gathered around a pile of equipment. They'd scavenged anything that might be useful and were in the process of dividing it between them. Small recompense for all they'd lost, but at least something. Several of them were wearing discarded shirts and many had bandages.  
  
Jim followed his gaze. “I found a medicine box like the one you had, only much bigger.”  
  
“Good, good.” Blair smiled, happy to have something to offer. “I'll take a look at it later; show you anything that might be worth keeping besides the bandages.”  
  
They reached the tent containing the weapons and went inside. There were a couple of cases of automatic rifles and a few handguns, several more boxes of ammunition. As Blair had suspected, there was also a box of what looked like explosives. He was no expert, but he thought that if they piled everything together and built a nice big fire around it, the explosives and ammo between them would destroy the rest of the weapons pretty effectively.  
  
Jim nodded thoughtfully when Blair explained and called in Rumi and Shullka. They started moving the boxes closer together while Jim escorted Blair outside again. “Go sit with Maywa and Tamaya. Maybe you can help them with the medicines.”  
  
“Sure.” It was actually a relief to get away from Jim. He went over to the group around the two women – the very young and old, and those who'd been worst injured. Wayra was among them. The old man was silent, his eyes leaking tears from time to time, even while the older children tried to comfort him. Blair smiled and accepted their greetings with as much composure as he could manage, then began his inspection of the First Aid kit. At least he could be of some help here.  
  
***  
  
They set out a couple of hours later, everybody, down to the smallest child able to walk unaided, carrying whatever goods they'd been able to scavenge from the encampment. It was a surprising amount – blankets, utensils, canned food (which Blair had showed them how to open), weapons and medical supplies. They'd come in handy over the next few days and weeks while the Chopec put their shattered lives together again. The tents would be particularly useful.  
  
The weapons and the bodies of Lyle and his men had been piled haphazardly together. Nobody wanted to bother with proper funeral rites for these invaders, but the bodies of their own people had been wrapped in spare bits of cloth and loaded onto makeshift travois to take them back to the ruined village. They'd be buried properly there.   
  
Jim's last act was to thrust a lighted branch under the pyre. Then he led the way out of the clearing, never once looking back. Blair walked a couple of steps behind him, but the distance between them was much greater than a few feet.  
  
Five minutes later, a satisfyingly comprehensive explosion shredded the peaceful sounds of the jungle. A shocked murmur ran through the group and Jim flinched. Even Blair hadn't expected it to be quite so loud, or to feel the percussion of it in the air.  
  
After a moment, they started walking again, satisfaction and relief slowly giving way to more sobering emotions as they got closer to their ruined village. Those who'd been too badly injured to join the rescue attempt came to meet them. Several had died overnight, and Blair suspected there were more who might not survive. Many of the dead were the young men – the ones the tribe depended on for security and food.  
  
“How are they going to survive, Jim?” They'd lost their shaman, and Blair hadn't seen Mallku since the rescue. He hadn't asked if the headman had been killed but it seemed likely. There were a lot of widows and orphans now; too many for the remaining tribe members to support.  
  
“As soon as the fight was over Mallku left with some warriors to find the Macu. They are no friend to the Yurua and they won't want the Chopec to be weakened. We hope they will give us some of their young men to join with us.” Some of the coldness had left Jim's eyes now, but there was no sign of the warmth that had always been between them in the past. “When he returns I will leave with you. I can't risk the Yanquis returning for me.”  
  
“Okay.” He should have felt pleasure, and excitement, but all that remained was relief that the Chopec, and Jim, would be safe. Whether Jim could ever be happy in Cascade was another matter. “How long, do you think?”  
  
“A couple of days.” Broad shoulders lifted in a weary shrug. “There's a lot to be done. Come.”  
  
***  
  
“Enqueri, Enqueri!” Qhari came rushing from the jungle, his thin chest heaving with exertion. “The metal bird is here!”  
  
Blair looked up from where he was bandaging the ragged knife wound on Rumi's arm, his heart sinking. Qhari was the youngest child they'd been able to spare to watch the clearing where Blair's helicopter had been shot down. The place where, if Blair's guess was correct, his rescuers would come when he didn't return.  
  
He met Jim's glance for a moment and bent his head again to finish his task. They'd barely spoken, apart from what was necessary, over the last two days. Barely slept, too. The distance between them was eating at him, but there'd been no opportunity to try to mend the breach, or to erase the pain that lurked in Jim's eyes.  
  
When he'd finished, Blair rose to his feet reluctantly. Jim was talking to the small group of elders who'd taken on the decision-making in Mallku's absence. They broke apart and Jim turned towards him. “We'll go now. I don't want any Yanquis coming to the village, not even your friends.”  
  
“All right.” There was nothing, really, for him to do. The small backpack he'd brought with him had been stripped of anything that might be useful for the tribe, and he had only to pick it up and leave. Jim, likewise, was taking nothing with him but the clothes he wore.  
  
The farewells were subdued. By now, everybody knew, and they gathered around, but there were no speeches or songs, nothing but soft voiced goodbyes, shared equally between the two of them. They set out down the path that Qhari had come from only minutes ago.  
  
It had been somewhat disconcerting to find out how close the clearing was to the village. The journey that had taken Blair nearly three hours now took a little less than an hour at the pace they set. It had probably taken Qhari about half an hour, running, to reach them.   
  
The helicopter was considerably larger than the one he'd hired, and none of the men surrounding it so warily was familiar to him; until he saw Ernesto Sandoval. Even then, he whispered to Jim to stay behind as he walked into the clearing. There was absolutely no point in taking chances.  
  
“Señor Sandburg!” Sandoval's face split into a wide, relieved grin. “We were trying to discover whether your body was in the wreckage of the chopper. Señor Ellison will be pleased.”  
  
Behind him, Blair could see a man running and gesturing to the other side of the clearing. “Mr Ellison's here?” He felt an idiot a moment later when Stephen came out of the shelter of the trees. He'd been wondering why an old man like William Ellison would have come on such an expedition. “Oh! Oh, that's great. ”  
  
“Sandburg.” Stephen slowed to a fast walk as he got within speaking distance. “Did you find him? Is he okay?  _Is_  it him?”  
  
Blair smiled. “Why don't you decide for yourself?” He added, in Quechua, “Jim, it's okay.”  
  
Stephen's eyes went past him, widened as he caught sight of Jim, still wearing the kilt and sandals of the Chopec. Blair turned to watch the brothers approach each other warily. He followed Stephen, knowing he would need to translate, but keeping enough distance to give them some semblance of privacy for this first meeting.  
  
They stopped, a couple of feet apart, and Blair could see the tension in both of their bodies. He heard Stephen say “Jimmy? Jim?” in a hoarse, uncertain whisper.  
  
Jim stared openly, his eyes searching Stephen's face, his head slightly cocked as if to hear his voice more clearly, even though he could have heard that whisper across the whole clearing. Then he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When his eyes opened again they were filled with longing and doubt. “S… Stevie?”  
  
“Oh, god!” Stephen flung his arms around Jim and pulled him into a ferocious hug while Jim simply stood unresisting, looking more lost than ever.   
  
***  
  
They arrived back in Lima just as the afternoon light was beginning to fade. Blair had expected the helicopter ride to be difficult for Jim, but if it was, he gave no sign other than the tightening of his brows above the bridge of his nose. He sat between Blair and Stephen wearing the ear protectors and watched everything with wary attention. There was no point in trying to talk, and Blair was glad of what little rest he could take.  
  
William Ellison was waiting for them at a private area of the airport with a man and woman who looked like embassy officials, and half a dozen photographers. Jim ignored the whirring of the cameras, his attention firmly fixed on his father, but he waited for Blair to lead the way.  
  
“Jimmy… my god, it  _is_  you…” There were tears in the old man's eyes as he stared at his son. “I didn't really believe…”  
  
“Uh, Mr Ellison, he doesn't remember English, or very much of anything.” Blair laid his hand on Jim's arm, switching to Quechua. “Jim, this is your father. Don't you remember him?”  
  
Still, Jim hesitated; strangely, Blair thought, considering how immediately he'd accepted Stephen. On his other side, Stephen shifted restlessly. “It's been a difficult few days, Dad. Jim's… a lot of the Chopec were killed.”  
  
Finally, Jim took a deep breath and walked hesitantly forward. He lifted a hand, perhaps to touch his father's lined face, but stopped mid-gesture. Ellison grabbed the hand and held it tightly. He looked past Jim to Blair. “Tell him it's okay. Tell him I'm very happy to have my son back again.”  
  
Jim nodded when Blair translated and leaned forward a little, taking his father into his arms for a brief, awkward hug.  
  
“Mr Ellison, I think we should… these photographers…” What the hell had he been thinking anyway? Blair glanced at Jim, who was staring blankly around him. It looked like he'd taken all he could right now. “Maybe we should go somewhere private. Let Jim acclimate slowly.”  
  
It was starting to sink in just how huge an adjustment it was going to be for Jim; one he'd never wanted to make, and that wasn't going to help matters at all.  
  
“We're going to have a press conference in the office over there.” William Ellison looked suddenly exhausted. “I know it'll be difficult for Jimmy, but I want those bastards to know we have him safe. I want the whole world to know what was done to him. And… I thought it might help the tribe – Jimmy's tribe, if they knew Jimmy wasn't with them any more.”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, it would.” Blair suppressed a sigh. It might have been done with the best intentions, but the thought of facing a pack of journalists and photographers was rubbing his already abraded nerves raw. “I'll explain to Jim. I'm not sure if he has any idea what's going on.”   
  
***  
  
The hotel Mr Ellison had chosen was pretty much perfect, Blair had to concede. It was small enough that their group – larger than Blair had expected, what with the security guards, lawyers, PR people and the personal doctor Ellison had brought with him from the States – could take up all the available rooms and exclude prying eyes. It was also luxurious enough to have cost a small fortune.  
  
It went some way to appeasing Blair's bad temper. The press conference had been frustrating, to say the least. Jim had been completely at a loss, and none of Blair's explanations had helped very much. He'd answered a few of the journalist's questions, relayed through Blair and drastically edited in the process, but his lack of understanding, interest, or patience had come across far more clearly than words.  
  
Then Mr Ellison and Stephen – the latter with an apologetic glance – had separated Jim neatly from Blair's side and taken him off to the hotel's only suite, which they were to share and Blair, obviously, was not.  
  
At least the room service was good. Too tired to eat, too hungry not to, Blair settled for ordering a sandwich and coffee, thinking he'd have time to unpack the bag he'd left behind in Lima with Sandoval and have a shower before the food arrived. Instead, there was a discreet tap on the door not five minutes later and a waiter with a covered tray standing in the hallway.  
  
The first few mouthfuls were a chore, then the hunger kicked in and he demolished the rest of the food with real eagerness. The sandwich was enormous and instead of a cup, there was a whole carafe of coffee. Blair finished most of that, too, knowing he'd probably regret it later, but not really caring.  
  
He fell asleep in his chair, in spite of the coffee, waking an hour or so later feeling stiff, aching, and grimy. The sky outside his window was completely black now. He wondered how Jim was getting on with his father and brother, considering they couldn't even communicate.  
  
A long, hot shower helped to make him feel a lot better. He pulled on one of the soft white bathrobes and towelled his hair vigorously; once he was half way presentable, he could go offer his services as a translator. The thought of seeing Jim again both cheered him and loosened a knot of anxiety he hadn't been fully aware of until then.  
  
Blair was investigating the options in his closet when there was a quiet scratching noise on his door. “Who is it?”  
  
“Blair?” Jim's voice, quiet and uncertain. The latch rattled briefly. “I don't know how…”  
  
“I'm coming.” He unlocked the door and stood blinking in shock. Jim's long hair was cropped short, leaving his face looking exposed and vulnerable. He was wearing a tight T-shirt and a pair of loose pants, but his feet were bare. “Jim… come in.”  
  
Jim entered, looking around the room curiously. He was quickly satisfied, though – all the hotel rooms must be pretty similar, Blair guessed – and went to sit on the edge of the bed, watching Blair. His whole demeanour had changed from earlier; he looked lost and miserable.   
  
“I was just going to get dressed and come find you.” He realised he was staring and shrugged, moving aside to sit in the armchair. “You look…” Incredible. Hot. “…different.”  
  
“My father said that I should have clothes like his. And short hair.” He shrugged unhappily. “He said I should be like other Yanquis.”  
  
“It will probably make it easier for you,” Blair agreed. “Hey… how did you talk to him? Are you remembering how to speak English?”  
  
Jim shook his head. “One of the… the tribe here speaks Quechua. Not as well as you.”  
  
“Does your father know where you are?” Probably not, Blair thought. William Ellison didn't like him much, and it was already abundantly clear that he didn't want Blair and Jim spending any more time together than was absolutely necessary.  
  
“He and Stephen…” Jim fumbled with the name, “went to meet with…” he frowned, “someone from the Yanqui tribal council. They want the elders to allow me into the… the…”  
  
“It's okay.” Blair smiled, “Probably the… uh, embassy.” He said it in English, since there wasn't any Quechua word that would translate.  
  
Jim nodded, obviously recognising it. “Embassy. Yes, that. So I told Miguel…”  
  
“The guy who speaks Quechua?”  
  
“Yes. Miguel. I told him I wanted to sleep and he left.” Jim smiled a little, but he looked as exhausted as Blair felt, his eyes shadowed and reddened with lack of sleep, his face lined and weary. “Then I listened for you, and found you here.”  
  
There were so many things Blair wanted to ask him – especially how “listening” for him had led Jim here, since he hadn't exactly been talking to himself – but now wasn't the time. Jim had come here for a reason, he was sure. He just didn't know why. “Are you hungry? I can call… uh, get food, or…”  
  
“No, I'm not hungry.” Jim stared patiently at him.  
  
“Okay.” Blair studied him cautiously. This man was almost a stranger – not Enqueri and certainly not young Jimmy Ellison, but something in between. Then some sign, maybe the tilt of his head, maybe the tension simmering beneath the superficial calm, sparked a memory of the jungle, and the way Enqueri had looked at him the moment before he'd leaned down for that first kiss… “Oh… oh, yeah… okay.”  
  
Blair walked unsteadily across to the bed and stood before Jim, looking down on him for once. He worried his bottom lip for a moment, wondering if this was the right thing to do, remembering all the things that had happened between them since that day. “Jim, are you sure…”  
  
“No. No, Chaska” Jim laid his hands flat on Blair's chest. “Not… not Jim. Tonight let me be Enqueri again.”  
  
There was such a depth of sadness in his voice that Blair felt his vision blurring. “I'm sorry… so sorry, 'queri. I never meant…”  
  
“I know.” Jim's eyes never left his. “Let's not talk about it tonight.”  
  
“Whatever you want, 'queri.” He cupped his hands over Jim's cheeks, tilting his head back a little further and bent to kiss him softly on the lips.  
  
Immediately, Jim's lips parted beneath his, inviting Blair's entry. He took it slowly, with gentle, almost teasing movements of his lips, the merest flicker of his tongue against Jim's lips and teeth, until Jim moaned softly and pressed closer, his hands loosening the tie of Blair's bathrobe then sliding under the cloth to touch bare skin.  
  
Gradually Blair ceded control to Jim, allowing him to indulge his senses with slow, deep kisses that sent arousal spiking through him and made his belly ache with sweet, hot pleasure. When Jim abandoned his mouth to investigate the exact angle of his jaw, the texture of the skin beneath his ear, Blair simply moved his hands to the back of Jim's head. The short hair tickled his palms pleasantly, and he amused himself with gently ruffling it beneath his fingertips.  
  
“Feels good, 'queri. Feels so good…” he let his head fall back, exposing his throat to Jim's attentions. He felt Jim's hands sweep over his chest to rest above his pounding heart. “Is that how you found me, 'queri?”   
  
It wasn't impossible, he supposed, and Blair didn't know what other sounds Jim could have used to find him, but still he felt a shock of surprised pleasure when Jim murmured assent. “You can tell my heartbeat from others?”  
  
“Mm.” Jim licked the hollow at the base of his throat, his tongue soft and warm and wet, then trailed tiny, perfect kisses down his chest.   
  
Blair knew where he was aiming for, but when Jim's lips closed around his nipple he hissed in shock at the intensity of his reaction. “God… I can't… want you so much…” He cradled Jim's head against his chest, feeling his cock swell, finally, despite his exhaustion. And Jim… he glanced down, between their bodies and saw that Jim, too, was only half hard, his cock outlined beneath the thin cloth of his pants.  
  
“Want to touch you, 'queri.” He tugged at the t-shirt stretched tight across Jim's back and managed to gather it up into crumpled folds, then draw the hem higher until Jim had to pull away from him so that he could ease it over his head. He emerged from the t-shirt looking bemused – even something so mundane as this was a novelty, Blair realised – but lost no time in capturing Blair's other nipple between his lips. His hands curved around Blair's ribs, thumbs stroking lightly over skin that shivered and trembled beneath his touch.  
  
With all that lusciously smooth skin to play with, Blair lost himself in sensation – the satiny texture beneath his fingers, the hot, wet pressure against his nipple, the tingling awakening of his cock. But Blair wanted more, wanted Jim to have more; to have everything he was capable of giving. He shrugged the bathrobe off his shoulders and let it fall, then gently pushed Jim's shoulders until he released Blair reluctantly.  
  
“Let me do this. Let me give it all to you, 'queri.” He kept up the gentle pressure until Jim lay back on the bed, his legs dangling and pulling his pants tight across his groin. No longer half hard, his cock strained insistently at the cloth. Blair bent over and mouthed it gently, releasing a steady stream of breath over the thick shaft.  
  
It would have been easy to end it here; to rub himself against Jim's groin until they both came. It wouldn't have been nearly enough to satisfy him. He helped Jim scramble back onto the bed, lifting his legs and turning him so he could stretch out. Only then did Blair settle onto the bed beside him.  
  
He focused on Jim's swollen lips, tenderly pressing kiss after kiss as he slowly stroked his hand over Jim's chest and arms, never lingering very long in one place but thoroughly exploring the body he'd dreamed about ever since they'd last made love. It was every bit as wonderful as his memories had insisted.  
  
“Blair. Please…” Jim arched his body beneath Blair's touch, silently pleading, and Blair didn't have the heart to refuse him, even though he could have continued like this for hours.  
  
“Let's get you naked, huh?” He tugged at the drawstring of Jim's pants, pulling it loose and then sliding his hand underneath the waistband of his boxers. The belly muscles flinched beneath his fingers and Jim gasped, then groaned, arching into his touch again. Carefully, Blair slipped the top button of his boxers free, then he eased everything down over Jim's hips, down the long, long legs, and tossed the clothing aside.  
  
“God, you're so beautiful”, Blair murmured. His eyes were greedily eating up the sight of Jim, sprawled naked on his bed – a wet dream image if ever there was one – while his hand hovered, wanting to touch everything at once. He finally let it drift to Jim's hip, drawing him closer so their bodies could touch all along their lengths. “Want you so much…”  
  
“Yes…” Jim silenced them both with his mouth and for long moments there was only the sweet give and take of tongue and lips and teeth and the slow build of pressure in his groin.  
  
Somehow, they ended up with Jim sprawled on his back, and Blair straddling Jim's hips as they rolled up against his ass. Jim's face was blank, his eyes distant; almost on the edge of one of those zone outs Blair had seen on rare occasions; in this context, it was more than a little disturbing.  
  
“Enqueri!” He watched as awareness struggled back into Jim's eyes. “Stay with me, 'queri. It's more fun that way.”  
  
Jim grinned weakly, his breath coming in effortful gasps. “Then do something to keep my attention.” His hands guided Blair's down to his cock.  
  
“I can do better than that.” Blair shuffled backward and settled himself between Jim's splayed legs; and, god, there was no place in the world he'd rather be right now. He smiled at Jim across the length of that gorgeous body and lowered his head to nuzzle gently at the heavy shaft.  
  
Jim choked back a cry, his hips rising instinctively. After a moment he managed, with an obvious effort, to remain still. The hot, solid feel of him, the musky taste of sweat and arousal intoxicated Blair almost beyond bearing. He licked and kissed and nibbled his way from root to tip and back again, pausing only long enough for a teasing, flickering pass of his tongue over the swollen, sensitive tip.  
  
“Blair!” Jim's chest heaved, his hands fisted in the covers and he squeezed his eyes shut. “More… need you…”  
  
“I know.” Blair kissed the slick cockhead tenderly. “I know, 'queri. Let me take care of you.”  
  
A groan was the only answer, but it was all that Blair needed. Abandoning his teasing, he took Jim's cock into his mouth, sucking slowly up and down the shaft, falling easily into a rhythm that Jim matched instinctively. His fingers stroked lovingly over and behind Jim's balls, building the sensations in his lover, watching every twitch, hearing every sigh and moan. When Jim's shuddering breaths shortened into effortful gasps, he tightened his lips around Jim's cock and added his hand to the base, pumping firmly until Jim cried out and spilled into his mouth.  
  
For long moments afterward, Blair continued to nurse Jim's softening cock, drawing out the pleasure for both of them, until an audible hitch in Jim's breathing told him that sentinel senses were being over stimulated. He drew back, looking down at a lazily replete Jim in satisfaction.  
  
“I'll be back in a moment.” He kissed Jim slowly, then levered himself off the bed. He was so hard it was painful to walk even as far as the bathroom, but it would be worth the effort. Returning, he slid on the bed next to Jim and lay down pressed against his side, his erection jabbing against Jim's hip.  
  
When Jim turned his head, blinking sleepily at Blair, he chuckled softly. “Think you're up for another round, 'queri?”  
  
“Up? No.” Jim's lips quirked into a drowsy smile. “You'd better start without me.”  
  
“Yeah, I could do that”, Blair breathed against his cheek. “Want to roll over?”  
  
He did, but only onto his side, facing away from Blair. Well, that would work too; maybe better than what he'd planned. He flipped open the cap on the hotel's complimentary vial of aloe gel – organic, too, he noted approvingly – and squeezed some onto his fingers. He didn't wait for it to warm and Jim hissed as he began to stroke the cool gel between his ass cheeks.  
  
“Awake now?” Bair snickered, and kissed him apologetically between the shoulders. “Just relax, 'queri. I've got you.”  
  
There was a sound from Jim that might have been assent and he drew his leg up a little to allow Blair better access. It occurred to him, belatedly, that last time Jim had topped exclusively. “You've done this before?”  
  
“Often enough.” The words were slurred, almost purring.  
  
He couldn't last much longer. Not when Jim was sagging like warm putty in his hands, his body rolling bonelessly with every thrust of Blair's fingers. Blair bit his lip just to distract himself from the insistent demands of his cock and added a third finger. Just a few moments more…  
  
Lubing himself with the gel was almost more than he could bear, and Blair pressed into Jim's body with the caution demanded both by his fear of hurting Jim and the need to control his own reactions. If he wasn't careful this would all be over long before he was ready for it to be. It didn't help that the sound Jim made as Blair finally came to rest inside him was possibly the most obscene thing he'd ever heard.  
  
He held himself still with an effort, breathing slowly, shallowly until he felt like he had some measure of control. “This is so good, 'queri… you okay?”  
  
An impatient hand scrabbled at his, grabbed it and held it to a newly awakening cock. Okay, that was a good enough answer. Blair grinned and kissed Jim's shoulder. He drew his hips back a little and thrust forward again. Each time a little more firmly until he'd established a steady rhythm that sent white-hot sparks of pleasure along the length of his cock and into his spine.   
  
The temptation to pick up the pace still further, to drive into that hot, tight channel was easily resisted. One day, maybe – and it would be  _fantastic_  – but right here, right now, this was perfect. There was only one thing that would make it better… and as they shifted, adjusting the angles of their bodies, Blair heard Jim make a sound of unqualified approval. God, it was incredible. He managed to hold out just a little longer – two more thrusts, maybe three; he wasn't sure – and then he came, a long, extravagant unravelling, leaving him breathless and weak.   
  
Jim's hand moved under his, working his cock until it twitched sluggishly and the walls of his ass tightened around Blair's still pulsing cock. They moaned at the same time, relaxing into boneless contentment, and Blair closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh.  
  
***  
  
A peremptory knock on his door drew Blair out of a light doze and he rolled onto his back, snuffling a little as he surfaced. His first thought was – dazedly – room service; his second was not so pleasant and decidedly more likely to be correct. He kissed Jim's shoulder as his lover stirred and whispered, “It's okay. Go back to sleep.”  
  
It was a measure of Jim's exhaustion that he did exactly that. Another knock prompted Blair to call out in English “Be there in a minute”, as he found his bathrobe on the floor and dragged it on. After a quick glance at the bed he pulled the rumpled cover over Jim as far as he could before he went to the door.  
  
As Blair had expected, it was William Ellison who stood in the hallway, his lined face further creased with worry. He gave a brief disapproving stare at Blair's dishevelled state before demanding: “Have you seen Jimmy? He's not in his room.”  
  
This wasn't going to go well, but there was no point in lying. “He's inside. He wanted to…”  
  
“I can see very well what's happened.” The look of disdain deepened on Ellison's face. “If you think I'm going to allow you to take advantage of my son…”  
  
Blair interrupted what he suspected was going to become a tirade. “Mr Ellison, Jim's a grown man, and I really don't think either of us want to have this conversation in a hallway.”  
  
It pulled the older man up short. He grunted unhappily and turned away. “My suite's down here.”   
  
The last thing Blair wanted right now was a confrontation with Jim's father, but he followed anyway. Better to have it out now, safely out of Jim's way. Pausing only to grab his key from the nightstand, he eased the door shut and followed Ellison down the hall.  
  
A quick glance around the room was enough to assure Blair that Stephen was nowhere in sight. Ellison didn't miss much, either. He fixed a hard stare on Blair as he lowered himself into an armchair, pulling the bathrobe closer around his body.  
  
“I've called Stephen on his cell phone and told him to stay away for a while.” The thin lips tightened momentarily. “I'd prefer he wasn't a party to this discussion.”  
  
It didn't seem to Blair that Ellison had any real intention of discussing anything; laying down the law, definitely; but discussion, not so much. He plunged in headlong, preferring to avert the lecture before it could begin.  
  
“Mr Ellison, I know you've had a lot to deal with the last few days, but you can't honestly think I would…” his voice trailed off at the sight of William Ellison's stony expression. “Okay, obviously you  _do_  think… but I wouldn't, okay? It would be completely unethical, and in my field, we're very aware of the ethical considerations involved in studying other human beings.”  
  
“Go on.” No sign of acceptance or understanding, but at least he was listening.  
  
“Okay, first of all, I haven't… haven't  _seduced_  Jim, or anything. The Chopec have no taboos against homosexuality and Jim has shown a preference for male partners for as long as he's lived amongst them.” If anything Ellison's face became even grimmer. “Secondly, tonight isn't the first time Jim and I have…” he hesitated, seeing Ellison's distaste, “well, anyway, I'm  _not_  taking advantage here. Jim came to me because he's… Mr Ellison, he's just lost the only family he knows. He's lost  _everything_. Surely you can understand why he…”  
  
“That may well be, but frankly, I don't give a rat's ass about how the Chopec live.” Ellison leaned forward, his eyes hard and glittering. “Jimmy's going to be living in Cascade from now on and I want your word you won't encourage him in behaviour that's going to make life more difficult for him.”   
  
Blair forced back his anger. Ellison didn't really know him, and he was worried about his son. “Of course I won't.”  
  
“Good. I'll have your tickets delivered to your room tomorrow morning There's a flight early afternoon, I believe.” Ellison leaned back in his chair, looking tired. “Stephen, Jimmy, and I will have to stay a little longer, but there's no reason to inconvenience you any more than necessary. I'm sure you have commitments.”  
  
“Now, wait a minute.” He couldn't be serious… “I'm not going to just abandon Jim like that. Haven't you heard anything I've  _said_? I'm the only person he really knows right now. Mr Ellison, I don't think you really appreciate his situation. You don't  _know_  him. He's not the twelve-year-old boy who was taken from you. He doesn't even remember that boy. And you don't know anything about the man he's become. It's been over  _twenty years_ …”  
  
“Don't tell me how long it's been!” Ellison hissed. “I know  _exactly_  how long it is since Jimmy was stolen from me. I'm his  _father_ , dammit!”  
  
“Then start acting like one!” Blair's voice rose in anger, “Think about  _him_ , about what it would do to Jim for the only person he knows to walk out and leave him with strangers in an environment he doesn't understand.” He saw the moment his words sank in; Ellison sagged back in his chair, swiping a trembling hand over his face. His voice softened as he continued, “We both want what's best for Jim, and right now, he  _needs_  me.”  
  
“All right.” Ellison's vice was bitter. “But I want your word you won't encourage this… this  _dependence_.” He made it sound like something shameful, and perhaps to him it was.   
  
Blair sighed. “You have my word.  _But_ …” and he stared at Ellison with every ounce of stubbornness he possessed, “I won't turn him away because  _you_  don't like the idea of your son being in a relationship with a man. It's  _his_  life we're talking about here, not yours.”  
  
Ellison nodded jerkily. It wasn't agreement so much as an indication that the conversation was over, Blair suspected. But that was enough, for the moment. “I'll tell Jim you were looking for him, but he's pretty wiped out. He'll probably want to stay right where he is just now.”  
  
“All right.” Annoyance flitted across William Ellison's face, but he didn't argue the point.  
  
Blair pushed himself out of the armchair and left the room with a sense of relief. The next few days, he suspected, were going to be very uncomfortable for everyone.  
  
***  
  
The shrill insistence of the phone woke Blair at the crack of dawn, and he fumbled for the receiver, his only conscious thought to let the idiot on the other end have an earful for calling so early. Then his eyes, still only half open, focused on the alarm clock and he realised it was nearly nine-thirty.  
  
“'Lo?” he managed to mumble into the handset.  
  
“Sandburg?” Irritation came clearly through the line. William Ellison. Blair repressed a groan. “Breakfast will be arriving in my suite shortly. I'd… uh, I'd appreciate it if you and Jimmy would join us.”  
  
Wow, an almost conciliatory tone. Blair blinked, and gathered his wits enough to smile at Jim who was looking extremely bemused. “Sure. Breakfast. Um… give us thirty minutes, okay?”  
  
“I'll relay the message to room service.” Ellison's voice was dry, bordering on arid.  _Click_.  
  
Okay, thirty minutes. Coffee, in thirty minutes. And food. He forced himself to sit up. “Your father wants us to join him for breakfast. Okay?”  
  
“All right.” Jim swung his legs over the side of the bed, then paused and looked back over his shoulder enquiringly when Blair didn't move.  
  
“Um… do you need any help in the…” He waved vaguely towards the bathroom. Jim shrugged. “Okay… oh, boy… I guess this isn't so different from you showing me the latrines…”  
  
He led Jim into the bathroom and over to the toilet. “You must have used this sometime last night, right? To pee?” Jim nodded. “And you know you can sit on it too… if you need to… you know…” Jim looked blankly at him. “You know… squat.” Another blank look. “When you need to shit, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“And when you press this button the water flushes everything away.” Jim looked impressed. Too impressed… Blair sighed. “You're screwing with me, aren't you?”  
  
A tiny flicker of smile lit Jim's eyes. “I know how to use the shower, too. Miguel showed me.”  
  
Of course he did. He'd been all cleaned up last night when he arrived. Now he smelled like a cheap hotel room after an orgy. They both did. “Did Miguel show you how to save water?”  
  
“No.” Jim's eyes narrowed, suspecting trickery.  
  
Blair grinned. He started the shower up, waited for it to get warm then stepped in, drawing Jim with him. “Let me show you how we do that.”  
  
It was a tempting idea to show Jim a few other things he could do in the shower, but Blair resisted. It wouldn't impress William Ellison if they turned up late and looking like they'd been fooling around. He let Jim check the wound on his forehead and he checked Jim's arm; both were healing well enough that Jim decided they didn't need another dressing.  
  
Promptly at nine-thirty, Blair tapped on the door of William Ellison's suite. Stephen opened the door with not a flicker of surprise, though he eyed Blair doubtfully. Obviously, Ellison had told him about what he'd discovered last night. Blair smiled in a friendly manner and ushered Jim inside.  
  
“You're here.” Ellison's voice conveyed a number of emotions, none of them particularly complimentary. “Good. I'm hungry. I usually have breakfast at seven.”  
  
“Morning, Dad. Morning, Stephen.” Jim got the greetings out, barely faltering. Even now, Blair wasn't sure whether his facility with pronunciation – none of the other Chopec had ever learned to say his name correctly – was due to Jim's sentinel abilities or to some kind of sense memory, but it had only taken a couple of minutes coaching for him to get it right.  
  
Both Ellisons hesitated before returning the greetings with obvious pleasure, and William sent Blair a look of grudging approval.  _Score one for the anthropologist_ , Blair thought smugly.  
  
They sat at a small dining table filled with a huge variety of food – most of which, Blair realised, Jim was going to have trouble dealing with. At most, the Chopec used a sharp knife to spear hot food, or cut strips off a hunk of meat, for anything else, they used their hands. Jim probably had no idea how to use a spoon for cereal and fruit, or a fork for the scrambled eggs, bacon and French toast. Well, it wouldn't hurt for his father to have an object lesson in the massive social adjustments that Jim was going to have ahead of him.  
  
He spent the first ten minutes of the meal explaining to Jim in Quechua what the various foods were and showing him how to handle the cutlery, aware all the time of William and Stephen's gazes on the pair of them. When Jim was ready to fly solo, Blair helped himself to a toasted bagel, spreading it lavishly with cream cheese and blackberry conserve, biting into it with gusto. He followed it up with a long swallow of the hotel's excellent coffee and smiled beatifically at the others.  
  
“This is great. Thanks.” He took another bite, smaller this time and watched as Jim gave up on trying to cut a particularly crisp piece of bacon and picked it up in his fingers. “I guess it'll be a while before he has company manners, but he's a hell of a fast learner.” He switched to Quechua and pointed to the maple syrup. “Try this, 'queri. It's really good. Pour it over the toast.”  
  
Ellison glared at him. “Do  _not_  speak about my son as if he's a particularly bright three-year-old, Sandburg.”   
  
“Hey, as someone who's had to learn 'company manners' in a dozen different societies, I have the utmost respect for Jim's intelligence and abilities.” Blair took a deep breath and cast a reassuring glance at Jim, who was listening with disapproval written all over his face, to the barbed exchange. “Mr Ellison, I really don't think you understand how difficult it's going to be for Jim. He doesn't remember anything about American society and for that matter, he's probably not far off from the level of a three-year-old. He'll learn a lot faster, of course, but he's basically starting from scratch.”  
  
Support came from an unexpected source. “He's right, Dad.” Stephen shrugged apologetically at his father. “If Jim doesn't remember his life before being with the Chopec…”  
  
Jim glanced up sharply at the name of his tribe, and Blair hurriedly translated. “I'm not a child, Blair.”  
  
“No, but you remember what I was like when I first arrived at the village?” Blair grinned as Jim's eyes crinkled in amusement. “Well, it's going to be like that for you. You've already learned a lot in just a few hours, but there's a lot more to learn, believe me.”  
  
Abandoning the subject, Jim poked the syrup-drenched toast. “You're right, this is good.”  
  
Reassured, Blair returned to the attack. “Look, Mr Ellison, Jim is going to need a lot of one-on-one assistance to start with. Is there anyone you know who can spend that kind of time with him? I can help out with building a coherent plan, but…”  
  
“Sally could do it, Dad.” Stephen broke in eagerly, and William nodded agreement. “She's Dad's housekeeper. She practically raised us.” He glanced apologetically at his father, “I mean… she was very fond of Jim.”  
  
“Don't, Stephen. It's not necessary.” Ellison crumpled his napkin and laid it aside. “I was a single father in a time when there just weren't any single fathers. I won't deny I made mistakes, but I was doing the best I knew how. Sally was…  _is_  very close to Stephen, almost like a surrogate mother.”  
  
“Sally?” Jim repeated the name, a little awkwardly, but recognisably. His brow furrowed, eyes growing distant.   
  
The effect on his brother and father was electric. “Jimmy, do you remember her? Sally?” Ellison leaned forward eagerly, his eyes lighting up with hope.  
  
When Blair asked in Quechua, Jim shook his head, indicating uncertainty, he thought, rather than an outright negative. Blair sighed. “Do you remember anything?”   
  
Jim blinked, shaking his head more emphatically, “I don't know. Sometimes I think I can remember something, but then it fades away.”  
  
Blair put his hand lightly on Jim's arm. “Don't worry about it. Maybe when you meet her, you'll remember.”  
  
“Maybe.” Jim turned his attention back to his food, but with no particular appearance of interest or hunger and Blair sighed and relayed the exchange to Stephen and William Ellison.  
  
It was a pattern that was to be repeated again and again over the next few days until Blair was worn out with repeating every conversation and constantly relaying information between Jim and his brother and father. Finally, on the fourth day of their stay in Lima, Jim's travel documents came through and they were able to leave.  
  
***  
  
Blair could count on one finger the number of times he'd flown First Class before. There was something to be said for hobnobbing with successful businessmen, he supposed; it was just a pity he wasn't able to enjoy it more. He fidgeted restlessly in the extremely comfortable leather seat. Beside him, meal abandoned, Jim was staring blankly out the window. Across the aisle, William Ellison watched them both, a dour expression on his face. Blair ignored him, more concerned about Jim than his father's bad temper.  
  
After the helicopter ride, Blair had assumed that Jim wouldn't have any problem with the relative comfort of a commercial jet, but even before take off, Jim was already restless and unhappy. It had started in the airport – noisy, smelly, crowded with more people than Jim had ever seen in one place since he'd gone into the jungle. He'd sneezed, his eyes watering, when they entered the plane and was now staring grimly at his hands, clenched in his lap.  
  
“Is your friend a nervous flyer?” The soft, sympathetic voice of the flight attendant drew Blair's attention away from Jim for a moment.  
  
“He's got allergies.” Blair smiled up at her. “And he's never flown before.”  
  
“I'll get him some water.” She moved away, pausing to speak to a couple of other passengers. A minute or two later, she returned with a glass.  
  
“Thanks.” Blair took the glass and nudged Jim with his elbow. “Here's some water, Jim. It might help you feel better.”  
  
Tired, miserable eyes lifted to meet his. Jim took the glass and sipped the water, but then his nose wrinkled and he passed it back to him. “Tastes awful.”   
  
“Tell me what's happening, Jim.” Blair lowered his voice, even though it was extremely unlikely anyone else on the plane spoke Quechua. “Are you going to be able to handle this?” The last thing any of them needed was for Jim to freak out, and it was beginning to seem like a real possibility.  
  
“Everything in here is dead.” Jim's voice was low and raspy. “The air, the water,” he glanced distastefully at the glass in Blair's hand, “the food. It's all dead.”  
  
“I know it's difficult, 'queri. But it's not for very long.” Two more hours – it was beginning to seem like an eternity. He laid his hand reassuringly on Jim's wrist. “Close your eyes and remember what it felt like in the jungle.”  
  
He felt a tremor under his hand, but Jim closed his eyes obediently. “It's okay to remember, Jim. Remember that day we went on the scouting party?”  
  
Jim's lips quirked a little. “Everyone laughed at how noisy you were. It's just as well there weren't any raiding parties in the area.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah…” Blair chuckled softly, “that wasn't exactly what I meant. Can you remember the smells, the sounds… the way the air felt against your skin? Let those memories come to the surface, let them cover the sounds and smells in here, okay?”  
  
Jim sighed, frowning, but gradually his breathing evened out and the frown marks between his brows eased.  
  
“That's good.” Blair rubbed his hand up and down Jim's forearm, ruffling the coarse dark hairs. “I'm right here; there's nothing to worry about. Just… try to sleep for a while.”  
  
It seemed to help a little, and Jim might have dozed off for a while, Blair thought. Or he might simply have retreated inside himself. At any rate, it wasn't until the announcement came over the intercom that they were descending into Cascade that Jim stirred and opened his eyes. He looked just as worn as he had before.  
  
“Is it always going to be like this, Blair?” There was a hint of despair in his voice that made Blair's chest ache.  
  
“It'll get better, Jim.” Blair forced a smile. “It's just going to take a while to get used to a new environment. Once you do, everything will be just fine.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**one month later:  
**  
The phone rang and Blair reached for it absently, almost knocking over a pile of exam books he needed to have finished marking by tomorrow. “Blair Sandburg.”  
  
“Blair, it's a pleasure to talk to you. My name's Sid Graham and I'm a friend of Naomi's.”   
  
He didn't recognise the name or the voice, and frankly, didn't really care. He was way behind in his work, thanks to spending so much time helping Jim adjust to living in Cascade, and he had other things on his mind; like not getting fired for failing to carry out his duties. Blair tucked the handset between his head and shoulder and continued to sort through his files, not really listening, until,  
  
“…and I'm prepared to offer you a hundred thousand dollar advance, based on the paper Naomi's sent me.”  
  
“A hundred…” Blair swallowed. “You're kidding me, right? This is some kind of prank call?”  
  
“Not at all.” Sid chuckled complacently, “I'm a senior editor at Berkshire Publishers. Naomi sent me a copy of the paper you presented recently, and I think you have the makings of a best seller here. I'm prepared to offer you an advance on the strength of it.”  
  
“That's… that's incredible. Uh… Sid? It's Sid, right?”   
  
Another chuckle. “That's right, Blair. Now, do we have a deal?”  
  
“A deal? Oh, you mean the advance?” Blair thought furiously. “I don't know. There are… there are other considerations. I have to protect my subjects, and…”  
  
“I'm sure we can work through any little details.” Sid's voice sharpened. “This is a great offer for a first time author, you know.”  
  
It could work, and he'd always intended to write a book about sentinels, eventually. But he'd been planning an academic treatise. A popular book about sentinels, and about Jim in particular… it would certainly have the effect of making Jim too public a figure for the people from the Center to risk snatching him again. That they were likely to try was a thought that had preyed on his mind ever since their return from Peru. Judging by the way Mr Ellison was keeping Jim cooped up in the house, he wasn't the only one to be worried about that possibility.  
  
But how would Jim deal with the kind of publicity a book would bring? He had enough to cope with right now, just learning how to live in Western society again. He didn't think Jim was ready for that kind of exposure just yet and he was absolutely certain that Ellison would fight any prospect of a book being written about his son.  
  
“There's nothing wrong with the offer, Sid. I just need to think about it.” He searched for a pencil and scrap paper. “Give me your number and I'll call you in a couple of days.”  
  
The reluctance in Sid Graham's voice was obvious as he gave Blair his details. Blair thanked him and ended the call, then leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. This… this could change everything. God, the things he could do with that kind of money… the field research, the lab tests. Helping Jim with his senses, finding out exactly what he was able to do with his sentinel abilities.   
  
And it wouldn't end there; on the back of a successfully published, popular book there would be tours, lectures. Maybe more sentinels to discover, to study. The possibilities were endless.  
  
***  
  
Even though he'd anticipated William Ellison's objections, the vehemence of them took Blair by surprise. He'd barely gotten out the gist of his conversation with Sid Graham when Ellison exploded.  
  
“You are  _not_  turning my son into some kind of circus freak, Sandburg.” The old man's face was alarmingly purple. “I won't allow you to use Jimmy to further your career – such as it is.”  
  
The contempt with which Ellison spoke was almost enough to make Blair lose his temper in turn. He held grimly to the shreds and managed a tight smile for Jim who was watching anxiously, unable to follow the fast paced conversation, but having no problem in understanding the tone of it.  
  
“I'm not trying…” Blair took another deep breath. “Mr Ellison, the very fact we're having this conversation should tell you that I'm as concerned about how this would affect Jim as you are. The last thing I want is to cause him any harm.”  
  
“Then drop the whole idea.” The colour faded slightly from Ellison's face, but his voice was still uncompromising. “I won't allow it.”  
  
“It's not your choice, Mr Ellison.” Blair smiled pacifically, trying to soften the effect of the words. “If Jim agrees…”  
  
The glare sent his way stopped Blair mid-sentence. “Don't be ridiculous! Jimmy has no idea what this… this exposure would mean for him.”  
  
“At present, no. Which is why I'm not going to agree to Sid Graham's deal. Yet.” He threw another glance at Jim and switched to Quechua, “it's okay, Jim, I'll explain it all in a minute.” And then in English, “I really feel that this is a great opportunity for Jim. I don't want this book to be all about me. It's  _Jim's_  story and I want him to collaborate. I want to blow the lid off what the Center did to him. I want them to  _pay_  for it. But we won't go ahead with any deal until Jim can make an informed consent.”  
  
“Jimmy can't even remember what happened.” Ellison gestured impatiently. “How the hell is he going to write about it? Not to mention, in case you've forgotten, he can't speak, read or write in English.”  
  
“He'll learn. He's already making huge progress.” Blair hesitated, knowing from previous arguments that what he was about to say wouldn't be well received. “And he should start to regain his memories – some of them, at least – when he begins therapy.”  
  
Ellison's eyes went hard, mirroring the inflexible line of his mouth. “Jimmy doesn't need therapy. He's not mentally unstable.”  
  
“Of course he isn't! But he's been through some very traumatic experiences – finding the body of his mentor, the time he spent in the Center. The murder of half his tribe…” Blair sighed, wishing this whole line of conversation was unnecessary. “Anybody who'd been through what Jim has would need help dealing with it. Pretending it never happened, or that it doesn't affect him is only going to make it worse for him. As soon as his English is good enough, he should start visiting a counsellor. I can recommend…”  
  
“I don't need your recommendations, Sandburg.” Then the fight seemed to go out of the old man. “All right. I'll agree to him receiving treatment”, Ellison's mouth twisted in distaste, “but it'll continue only for as long as I think it's of value.”  
  
“Isn't that for Jim to decide?” Blair asked softly, and saw reluctant acceptance in Ellison's expression. “I promise I won't take any steps with regard to this book without consulting both you and Jim. You don't seem to understand that Jim's experiences with the Chopec are unique for a Westerner. He can teach us so much, and he's going to need to… to contribute. He's not the kind of guy who'd just live off your money and not contribute to society.”  
  
Ellison glanced over at his son, unaccustomed pride showing on his face. “I know. He never was.”  
  
Blair nodded, satisfied. He went over to Jim and put a hand on his arm. “Come on, 'queri. I'll tell you all about it.”  
  
***   
  
“Blair, my boy! Have you got a moment?”   
  
Blair turned to see the head of Anthropology hurrying after him. He waited for the older man to catch up. “Sidney… sure, what is it?”  
  
“I've had a request from Chancellor Edwards for your records – attendance, class records, papers submitted to journals, the lot.” Sidney's face was creased with concern. “Admittedly, there's a tenured position coming up at the end of the semester…”  
  
“Yeah, I know. Hal Bruckner was my faculty advisor when I started at Rainier.” Blair grinned, “He put up with a hell of a lot of shit from me in those days.”  
  
“I remember.” Sidney smiled reluctantly. “Blair, I wish I thought this request was related to Hal's retirement, but I've heard… nothing I can repeat, okay? Just… be careful.”  
  
“Okay.” Blair could almost feel a shiver run down his spine. Sidney was a good guy, and he wouldn't be passing on this sort of rumour unless he felt there was something underhand going on. “Thanks for letting me know, Sidney.”  
  
“Any time, Blair. You know that.” He patted Blair on the shoulder and veered off towards Hargrove Hall, leaving Blair standing in the middle of the car park staring after him.  
  
After a moment, he gathered his wits and continued towards the library, but so deep in thought that he was lucky not to be run down by an impatient student. The squeal of brakes and a blaring horn alerted him to his danger, and he skipped hurriedly aside with an apologetic wave.  
  
One thing was for sure – he needed to find out what was going on. And, if there was one person who could be relied on to know, it was Riley. He grinned, and took a sharp right turn towards the student cafeteria. Riley could be counted on to be there from mid-afternoon until late, drinking cup after cup of coffee and keeping his finger on the pulse of the university.  
  
The news wasn't good. Blair stared blankly at Riley, his heart sinking rapidly, his gut twisting into knots. “Parker? You're sure the name was Parker?”  
  
It wasn't a particularly unusual name, but that it should come up in the context of some anonymous institution, which was taking an interest in  _his_  career…   
  
“Yeah, man, Miss Parker. Don't know what her first name is. You know her? What's her beef with you, anyway?” Riley's eyes were intent, but Blair doubted that he saw how close he was to freaking out. Riley stored information the way dragons were said to hoard gold. He didn't care very much about the people involved or the implications of the knowledge he acquired.  
  
“I'm not sure.” Blair shrugged, pulling himself together enough to find a plausible lie. “It might not be the same Miss Parker, but if it is, I'd keep a low profile if I were you. She's into some seriously heavy stuff.”  
  
“Cool.” Riley nodded encouragingly.  
  
“No, Riley. Not cool at all.” Blair reached across the table and grabbed Riley's arm. “If she  _is_  the same person, then you could be in danger. We both could.”  
  
Jack had told him about Miss Parker after he'd returned from his second trip to Peru. She was the sister of that psychopath who'd slaughtered the Chopec; he couldn't imagine why she was choosing to interfere in his academic career but he was damn sure it wasn't a good sign. He had to talk to Jack.  
  
***  
  
“It doesn't surprise me, I'm afraid.” Jack reached for a file from the cabinet beside his desk and flipped it open. The woman in the photo was young and attractive, with smooth dark hair hanging below her shoulders. “Is this the woman?”  
  
Blair shook his head. “I haven't seen her myself, but she fits Riley's description. How dangerous is she?”  
  
“I don't think you need to worry about a frontal attack. She's nothing like Lyle… prefers to work behind the scenes, not  _overtly_  dangerous.” Jack took the folder back and frowned down at it. “She's highly intelligent and emotionally contained. From what you've told me, it sounds exactly like the kind of operation she'd run; first discredit you academically, then remove Ellison – either permanently, or by getting control of him again.”  
  
“So what do I do here, Jack?” He could hear the barely controlled terror in his voice. “Sooner or later, they're gonna succeed. I can't watch my back forever, let alone Jim's.”  
  
Jack studied him for a long time before he spoke. “You need to go public. Organisations like that, they can't risk being openly identified. As long as they operate under the radar, agencies like the CIA can use their intelligence gathering capabilities and ignore everything else. But, if the Center is… outed, as it were, then the federal agencies would have to act.”  
  
Go public. Well, he certainly had the means to do it. Sid Graham had been badgering him ever since Blair had told him he wouldn't be signing any deal for at least six months; he'd even more than doubled the original advance to a quarter million. All Blair had to do was call Sid and accept the offer. But first he'd have to smooth things over with William Ellison.   
  
Sure. Piece of cake. And then there was the not so little issue of whether Jim was in any way ready to deal with the media circus that was bound to ensue. Blair sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don't know, Jack. The last time I did something like that a lot of innocent people died.” Some of whose faces he still saw in nightmares. “How do I know it's the right thing to do?”  
  
“You don't.” For all the sympathy in Jack's eyes, his voice was uncompromising. “You just have to make the best choice you can and hope that it works. The question is, are you willing to risk what might happen if you don't?”  
  
For himself, yeah. He could always find another job, if not in academia, there were still other routes he could take; but for Jim… no. The thought of Jim being in the hands of those callous bastards again was enough to make his flesh crawl.   
  
So, that was it. His decision made, he thanked Jack as calmly as his pounding heart would allow and left. He had some phone calls to make.  
  
***  
  
The plan had been to get the Ellisons into his own territory, and to use the advantage that gave him to add more weight to his arguments. Blair realised he'd miscalculated when he saw William Ellison's dismissive glance around as he entered the small, shabby living room. He should have known better, he supposed. Ellison wasn't the kind of man to accept any standards other than his own.  
  
Nevertheless, Blair played the welcoming host, ushering the three men over to the couch and offering coffee and tea, which William Ellison brusquely refused. Stephen flushed slightly and accepted and Jim got up and followed Blair into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, watching as Blair boiled water and prepared the coffee maker.  
  
“I've got some green tea here, Jim” He held out the box of tea bags for Jim to sniff warily. “It's the closest thing to kuka tea we have here. Want to try it?”  
  
Jim wrinkled his nose. “I'll have coffee.”  
  
“Okay.” He studied Jim as unobtrusively as possible, worried by the signs of weary despondency in his friend's face. “Have you seen much of Cascade yet, Jim?”   
  
Jim simply shook his head. Since they'd arrived back in Cascade, his father had been keeping him as much out of public view as possible. There'd been a lot of media interest at first, but the old man had allowed only a few journalists – ones he could influence, Blair suspected – to talk to Jim. Deprived of any fuel, the media had quickly found more interesting stories to cover; but still, Jim seldom left his home and Blair had had little opportunity to talk to him alone.  
  
“Dad says it's better not to risk the… the…” he hesitated, frowning. “The people who make newspapers?”  
  
“Journalists?”  
  
“Yes, them. Better not to let the journalists see me.” Jim shrugged. “I don't really understand why. They don't have any weapons.”  
  
“He's worried about the people from the Center coming after you.” Blair smiled reassuringly. He understood the old man's fear but, more than ever now, he didn't think hiding Jim away was the best way to handle things. “Things might be changing soon, anyway. I'll tell you all about it in a minute.”  
  
“Okay.” Jim took the mugs Blair handed him and they went back to the living room.  
  
Blair waited for them all to settle before clearing his throat. “Uh… I've got some news for you that… well, it's serious, but I think we can handle it.”  
  
“Spit it out, for god's sake.” William Ellison growled. “I don't know why you insisted on us coming all this way. It would have been easier for you to come to us.”  
  
He wasn't about to enlighten the old man on that count. He smiled, choosing his words carefully. He needed both to be able to speak at Jim's level of English and to get his message across to the other Ellisons without alienating them. “It looks like the people from the Center are in town. I've had some information…”  
  
“What kind of information?” Stephen interrupted this time. “We've had people watching for anything unusual, and they haven't seen anything.”  
  
“That's because they're not coming after Jim at the moment.” Blair cleared his throat and took a quick swallow of coffee. “They're trying to get me fired from the university.”  
  
“And you think we should help you.” William Ellison glanced sharply at him, then admitted grudgingly, “well, I suppose we owe you that much.”  
  
Jim stirred uneasily. “We can't let them hurt Blair, Dad.”  
  
“Thanks, Jim. But that's not what I'm worried about. I'm not the person they're really after. They just want me out of the way so they can get you.”   
  
Ellison snorted. “I think you've got inflated ideas about how important you are, Sandburg. If you think I'm going to sit back and do nothing while those bastards kidnap Jimmy again… well, _they're_  not that stupid, I'm sure.”  
  
“Think about it, Mr Ellison. I'm the only person outside your family who even knows Jim. It wouldn't be too difficult to make it look like he left voluntarily – some kind of family squabble, maybe – and nobody would take it too seriously. But if someone outside the family backed you up, someone with a lot of contacts, that would make it more difficult to cover up what had happened.”  
  
“Huh.” Ellison didn't look convinced, but he frowned thoughtfully. Stephen looked worried and Jim… Jim was staring at Blair, his face blank.  
  
“Jim? Do you understand everything we've been saying?” Most of all, he needed to be sure that Jim was following the information.  
  
“I understand. Blair… I won't go back. I won't let them take me.” He switched to Quechua. “It would be better to be dead than to live like that.”   
  
Blair replied in the same language. “It won't come to that, my friend. I won't allow it.”  
  
“You've obviously given this some thought.” Stephen broke in, dryly. “What are you planning on doing?”  
  
Blair swallowed nervously. The potential for an explosive reaction was pretty high. “We need to go public with Jim's story. We need to make his face recognisable in every household in North America. The more publicity we can get the less likely it is that the Center can just make him disappear.”  
  
“I've already told you…” William Ellison propelled himself to his feet with surprising force. “You can advance your career some other way. Jimmy, Stephen, we're leaving.”  
  
“No.” The quiet negative came from Jim, startling all of them. Ever since he'd arrived in Lima, Jim had quietly deferred to his father like the twelve year old he'd been when the Center kidnapped him. “Blair's my friend. We're going to help him.”  
  
Blair smothered a delighted grin at this unexpected sign of independence. “Mr Ellison, I understand your reasons for opposing this, and if you remember, two weeks ago I agreed that it would be better to wait until Jim was better able to deal with the publicity. But the situation's changed.”  
  
“Yes, your job…”  
  
“ _No_! Jim's safety. That's my only concern here.” He appealed to Stephen, who was showing signs of wavering. “I can do this on my own, but that's not what I want. This kind of publicity is going to be hard on Jim, and he'll need all of the support we can give him. It's much too soon to be doing something like this, but what other choice do we have?”  
  
“He's right, Dad.” Stephen's eyes shifted from Blair to his father, to Jim. “You're going to get in touch with that editor who called you? D'you think he'll still be interested?”  
  
“I already have.” Blair went over to his desk, in the corner and brought a small sheaf of papers back. “He faxed me this contract. I think you should get your lawyers to look it over.”  
  
Ellison snatched it out of his hands, then fumbled his glasses out of his pocket. “It's in Jimmy's name too.” He glanced up, clearly surprised.  
  
“Of course. I told you it would be a collaboration.”  
  
“Half a million!” Stephen was reading over his father's shoulder. “I thought he offered you a hundred thousand.”  
  
“Yeah, he did originally.” Blair grinned. “I guess Sid thought I was just playing hard to get. He'd already upped the price to a quarter mil last week and I turned him down, but then he called me again today just before I was going to call him and doubled his offer.”  
  
“Blair, I don't understand this… paper.” Jim gestured towards the papers that his father and brother were engrossed with. “What is it?”  
  
“It's a contract.” He saw that the word didn't mean anything to Jim. “It's an agreement. A trade. You and I are going to write a book – tell people about what's happened, about what it was like to live among the Chopec and what the Center did to them. In return, we're going to get a lot of money.”  
  
“But…” It didn't seem like Jim was any the wiser, but he shook his head and shrugged. “You think we should do this?”  
  
“I think we have to.” Blair studied him unhappily. Jim already looked tired and miserable; he hated to think what this was going to do to him. “And there's more. You remember when we arrived in Lima and the reporters were asking you questions?”  
  
Jim grimaced. It was answer enough.  
  
“We're going to be doing that. A lot. Going to different cities, going on TV... have you watched the Tonight Show? Letterman? Leno?”  
  
“Yes…” Jim's wariness almost made Blair smile. “That isn't real, Blair. Sally told me what's on TV isn't real.”  
  
“Some of it… well, I guess you could say some parts are a bit more real than other parts.” He put his hand on Jim's shoulder. “Jim, for this to work, you're going to have to remember things that you probably don't want to remember. Do you think you can do that?”  
  
He realised that the other two Ellisons were watching them. Jim frowned, his eyes growing unfocused as he retreated inside himself for a moment. Then he shrugged dejectedly. “If I have to do it, I will.”  
  
***  
  
“Hi, Cynthia.” Blair smiled amiably at the Chancellor's PA. “I'm not late am I?”  
  
Cynthia, or Ms Harrington, as she preferred to be called, failed to return the smile. “Chancellor Edwards has a visitor with her.” A visitor more important than  _you_ , her tone implied. “I'm sure she won't be much longer.”  
  
“Fine. I'll just take a seat.” He perched on the edge of a smart leather armchair, still smiling and laid his satchel on his lap. Nothing pissed Cynthia off more than irrepressible chirpiness, and he was feeling just a little vindictive today, after a week of scrambling to get his proposal together. “How's your day been, Cynthia?”  
  
Well, maybe people calling her Cynthia pissed her off more…   
  
“Busy,” she smiled acidly. “If you'll excuse me.”  
  
“Oh, don't mind me, Cynthia.” Blair chuckled. “Just act like I'm not here.”  
  
She didn't even bother to respond to that, choosing instead to return to her typing. Blair tapped his foot nervously against the floor, but since it was covered in a luxurious Persian rug, the full effect was lost on Cynthia.   
  
It was almost ten minutes before the door to the inner sanctum opened and a young woman came out. Blair caught one glance of her and then looked away, his pulse suddenly racing. There was no doubt in his mind that she was the Miss Parker Jack had warned him about. Obviously, he'd started his counter attack none too soon.  
  
He waited until she was almost next to him before looking up. He blinked, allowing a vague surprise to show on his face. “Why, Miss Parker. This is a surprise.”  
  
She stopped beside his chair; her face was composed, revealing nothing. “I'm sorry. Do I know you?”  
  
“By reputation, maybe.” With deliberate insolence, he rose slowly to his feet. This was a much better target for his irritation than Cynthia would ever be. “Dr Blair Sandburg. I met a relative of yours in Peru. I'm so sorry about what happened.”  
  
“Oh, that.” She didn't seem very concerned. “Mr Lyle and I weren't close. If you'll excuse…”  
  
“I suppose it's difficult to be close to a psychopath.” Blair smiled with blatantly fake sympathy. For the first time, he was beginning to feel sorry for that madman. What a family those two must have made. “But then, I would have thought that it would bring the two of you closer together. Family traits and all that.”   
  
Miss Parker turned back to look down at him with calm superiority. He hated it when taller women did that to him. “You know nothing about my family, Dr Sandburg.”  
  
“I know all I need to. About you, your brother, and the people you work for. And this…” Blair gestured towards the Chancellor's door. “It isn't going to work. I know what you're up to, lady, and I'm going to hold you and your people accountable for what you did to Jim Ellison.”  
  
His declaration of hostilities didn't rattle her at all, but then he hadn't expected that it would. She smiled perfunctorily. “I'll bear that in mind. Good bye, Dr Sandburg.”  
  
He watched her walk away, and couldn't repress a tinge of admiration for the discreet sway of her slim hips or the easy stride of her long, slender legs.   
  
Cynthia Harrison's voice broke through his reverie. “Dr Sandburg, Chancellor Edwards will see you now.”  
  
“Thanks Cynthia.” Blair picked up his satchel, jam-packed with files, and turned towards Edwards' office. He'd vented some of his anger on these two women, but now he'd need to be every inch the professional. Edwards had never liked him; she'd be looking for any excuse to fire him.   
  
Cynthia followed him into the office, and Blair saw that Chancellor Edwards had another guest. Blair ignored him, for the moment, smiling affably at the Chancellor as he greeted her. He didn't want to let her know that he knew exactly why he'd been summoned here.  
  
“Dr Sandburg, I've asked Russell McVeigh to be present at our meeting. He's our legal advisor.” Edwards smiled thinly. “I hope you don't mind. I just have some concerns about your recent attendance.”  
  
There'd never been any love lost between her and Blair; she'd been one of the most vocal opponents of his doctoral thesis, dismissing sentinels as nothing more than primitive myths. She'd resented his appointment as lecturer and Blair was certain she was the reason he hadn't yet been offered tenure.  
  
“No, I don't mind at all. Pleased to meet you, Russell.” He shook hands with the lawyer and dropped into a leather chair the twin of the ones in the outer office.  
  
“And Cynthia will be taking notes, just for the record.”  
  
Blair grinned at Cynthia. “Good, good... Would you mind forwarding me a copy too? I want to keep my lawyer in the loop.”  
  
“Your lawyer?” McVeigh turned his head to look at Blair curiously.  
  
“Forsyth Barrington.” Blair kept his expression cool and indifferent as McVeigh's gaze sharpened. Barrington was one of the top lawyers in Cascade. “A friend recommended him for some business dealings I'm involved in.”  
  
McVeigh and Edwards exchanged a wary glance.   
  
“How… interesting.” Edwards said flatly. “However, I'm more concerned with your academic dealings at the moment.” She consulted a sheaf of papers on her desk. “Questions have been raised about your performance, and in particular about your attendance records. In the last three months you've been absent for a total of twenty-one days.”  
  
“That many?” Blair leaned forward, all earnest concern.  
  
“We don't, of course, include the extended absence at the beginning of last semester.” Edwards sounded regretful. She'd been very reluctant to allow his reinstatement after he'd returned from Peru. He'd been given up for dead, and his unexpected resurrection had not been welcomed by everyone, and especially not by her. “We're very concerned about how this absenteeism has impacted on your students.”  
  
“Of course.” Blair smiled. “You have noted, I hope, that I made all the necessary arrangements for my classes to be covered while I was – unavoidably – called away.”  
  
“Certainly.” Her voice was sour. “However…”  
  
“And that I provided my locums with all the relevant notes and resources that they required to teach those classes.” He didn't give her the chance to respond to that. “You're also aware, I assume, that all my students' term papers and exams have been marked and returned well  _within_  Rainier's required time frames. Also, my students have always given me a high approval rating even though I have the reputation of being a tough grader.”  
  
From the expression on her face, it was clear Chancellor Edwards  _was_  aware of those figures – and had hoped that he wasn't. “Nevertheless, there  _have_  been complaints and I would be remiss in my duties if I hadn't brought this situation to your attention.” She exchanged another long look with McVeigh, and Blair caught a brief nod from the lawyer. “Regardless of any potential negative impact on your students, I think you'll have to agree that such extensive absenteeism is not acceptable. We pay your salary on the understanding that  _you_ , not your… your academic cronies, will teach your classes.”  
  
“Oh, sure.” Blair smiled happily, knowing that he'd defused any real grounds for dismissal she'd hoped to use. “I also have a proposal to put to you that should take care of any future problems. I really think you're going to like this, Chancellor.”  
  
“Go ahead.” She managed a faint, insincere smile. “I'm sure Russell will give us the benefit of his opinion.”  
  
“Great.” Blair took a deep breath. This was make or break time, but he didn't see how even Chancellor Edwards could fail to be impressed. “As you're probably aware, I had to return to Peru to assist in the repatriation of James Ellison – the man I found living with the Chopec. That accounted for nearly half the absences logged against me. The rest were times when I was needed to help Jim with issues arising from his unfamiliarity with Western society and with dealing with his sentinel abilities.”  
  
“Indeed.” Edwards mouth twisted into a sour grimace. “However, it is not your responsibility to…”  
  
“I can't agree.” Blair interrupted. “He was…  _is_  the subject of an academic study. The welfare of the subject is paramount. Always. And, quite simply, there is no other expert on the subject of sentinels than myself.” He forced down his distaste for the woman, continuing more mildly. “I had, and continue to have, a moral obligation to assist Jim whenever necessary.”  
  
McVeigh leaned forward, getting involved for the first time. “What about your obligations to the university, and to your students?”  
  
“I'm very aware of those obligations,” Blair snapped. “Which is why I was so pleased to come here today. I've found a way to satisfy both academic and personal demands on my time.”  
  
“Please go on.” Edwards was watching him carefully.   
  
“I've recently been approached by Berkshire Publishing.” He saw Edwards' eyelids flicker. “I assume you've heard of them? They wanted me to write a book about sentinels and were willing to offer me an advance of a hundred thousand dollars. My first instinct was to refuse. Jim isn't ready for the kind of exposure that a book would bring.”  
  
“Very commendable. However if you're not going to…”   
  
“At least, that's how  _I_  felt. But Jim's keen to go ahead. So I put a counter proposal to Berkshire.” Blair barely managed to keep himself from bouncing in his seat. Once William Ellison had accepted the need to go public with Jim's identity and abilities, he'd gotten his legal team involved and the negotiations with Sid Graham had taken a whole new direction.  
  
“We have agreed – in principle – on a deal for two books, with an option for a third. Both books are to be co-written by Jim and myself. One of them will be about sentinels – the mythology and historic references, and Burton's monograph, of course, as well as a section outlining the extent of Jim's abilities. The other… that will be more personal – Jim's story of how he was abducted as a child, his experiences in the Center and in Peru, and the story of how we met and my time with the Chopec. It will also deal with the massacre of the Chopec people by members of the Center. As you can imagine, this will result in a lot of publicity for Rainier University.”  
  
Edwards pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. “Indeed.”  
  
“Of course, we'll need substantial resources to undertake this project. Particularly in the area documenting Jim's sensory abilities. I haven't had the time to test them under laboratory conditions, however I've talked to some friends in the Psychology department and they're really interested in seeing what he can do.”  
  
“It should be possible to come to some kind of arrangement.” Edwards admitted.  
  
“That's what I thought.” Blair relaxed a little. Everything was going according to plan. So far. “It's going to take a lot of my spare time, but I've also thought of a way to reduce the impact. There aren't any other native speakers of Peruvian Quechua in Cascade, but Jim's grasp of English is improving so rapidly that he can be of real assistance to the Anthropology department, and in particular to Linguistics. They're very keen to work with him on an audio project to document the different dialects. And that will make it easier for me if he needs any help with his senses, since he'd be working in the same building. Also, the Botany department are interested in the knowledge of herbs Jim acquired while he was a healer with the Chopec. In fact, they're pretty keen to be involved in the third book, if it goes ahead, which would deal with primitive medicine and bio-pharmacology. As you're no doubt aware, the big pharmaceutical companies are very interested in traditional native remedies these days.”   
  
Maybe he'd pitched it a bit too strong… Chancellor Edwards smiled ironically. “I was aware of that, thank you, Dr Sandburg.”  
  
“Of course, I think it's only fair that Jim be put on the payroll as a consultant.” Blair spread his hands, shrugging. “He's going to be spending a lot of time at the university if it goes ahead.”  
  
“ _If_  it goes ahead?” McVeigh raised an eyebrow. “I though you had a deal? Have you signed a contract?”  
  
“You're going to need the backing of the university.” Edwards pointed out. No doubt she was already thinking of ways to screw everything she could get out of the situation. Blair was sure Miss Parker hadn't been offering peanuts to get rid of him. “You won't be able to do all that research on your own.”  
  
“Well, I  _could_ …” Blair said doubtfully. “I have a contract. It's with my lawyers at the moment. The offer's up to three million, now, so I could hire all the assistants I need with my share. Jim will get half, of course. It really depends on what I feel is in Jim's best interests.”  
  
“Three…” Edwards looked from Blair to McVeigh and back. “That's a substantial increase over the initial – one hundred thousand, was it?”  
  
“Jim's dad helped with the negotiations.” Blair smiled and shrugged. He'd kept his voice casual, but the effect on his audience was electric.   
  
“Would that be…  _William_  Ellison?” McVeigh was staring at Blair as though he'd never seen him before. “The head of Ellison Developments?”  
  
“He's retired now,” Blair said, trying to look happily oblivious of the effect this particular bit of information was having on the other two. “He's the one who recommended Barrington to take care of the contract.”   
  
“I see.” Edwards' attitude changed abruptly. “Well, I can assure you, Dr Sandburg… Blair… that Rainier University will support this project in every way we can. I'm sure there'll be no problem with employing Mr Ellison as a consultant. We'll also work on freeing up your schedule as much as possible.”  
  
“Thanks.” And now just one more concession… “That'll be so helpful, especially when the promotional appearances start. I understand my editor – Sid Graham – has contacts on the Tonight Show and Oprah. And a few other shows as well. It's pretty exciting, don't you think?”  
  
From their dumbfounded expressions, he guessed they felt the same way. Phase one seemed to have been successfully completed.  
  
***   
  
“What do you think, Jim?” Blair watched hopefully as Jim turned slowly around, his eyes taking in the enormous space. “Do you like it?”  
  
“Yeah. There's lots of room.” Jim nodded, smiling, then sneezed. “It's dusty.”  
  
“True, but it'll clean up good. And since it's empty I'd be able to move in as soon as the paperwork's done.” He headed towards the stairs. This, he thought, would appeal to the sentinel in Jim the most. “Look, up here.”  
  
Jim followed him up to the small loft area and they stood looking down at the wooden floor below. One large open space encompassed both kitchen and living area, rising two levels to the ceiling. The bathroom and a small room suitable for a second bedroom or office were tucked under the loft. Large skylights set in the roof flooded the entire space with light and French doors opened onto a balcony.  
  
“I'm gonna sleep up here. And… and I was thinking that once I've moved in here, maybe you could, you know, stay over sometimes.” He glanced at Jim who was still gazing out over the space below. “If you want to, that is.”  
  
Jim looked pleased. “I'd like that.”  
  
“Great.” Blair smiled brilliantly. “That's great.” He leaned up and kissed Jim on the lips, his hand coming up automatically to cup Jim's cheek.  
  
Jim responded immediately, his lips softening, becoming pliant against Blair's. Pleasure coursed bright and sharp through Blair's body. His cock stirred expectantly, but Blair was too caught up in the sweet slide of Jim's tongue against his, the flow of breath between them, to care too much about getting laid. Then Jim tensed and drew back, moving away with an unhappy glance in Blair's direction.  
  
“Jim, what's wrong?” It wasn't Jim's reaction that surprised him, so much as the depth of the hurt he felt. He'd known that in backing off and allowing Jim time to settle into his new life in Cascade he would also be providing his father with the opportunity to drive a wedge between them. He guessed he'd just hoped that Jim would have the strength of mind to resist.   
  
Enqueri would have, but Jim wasn't Enqueri any more. The realisation of that fact – that he'd lost Enqueri forever – brought a rush of grief so intense that Blair had to turn his face away for a moment so Jim wouldn't see it.   
  
“I'm sorry, Blair.” Jim shook his head, his eyes avoiding Blair's. “I can't… don't want…”  
  
“Is it because of your father?” He took a step towards him. Enqueri was gone, but this man was still a part of him; still mattered to Blair more than he could ever have expected. “Jim, you don't have to…”   
  
“Dad told me… he said that in America it's not… that men don't fuck each other. Most men. And the ones that do…” A muscle jumped in Jim's jaw, testifying to the tension that Blair could see in his body. “He said…” a small frown wrinkled Jim's forehead for a moment, “…queers… is that…? He said it's dangerous. They get sick and people try to kill them. He said…”  
  
“Jim, your father's from a different generation. Things aren't like they were when he was younger.” Blair summoned a smile, not very convincing, he thought.  
  
“I asked Stephen and he said it was true.” Jim's eyes met his at last. “Is it true?”  
  
“It's… it's not as simple as that.” Christ! How was he going to explain the product of more than three thousand years of Judeo-Christian induced homophobia to Jim? He scrubbed a hand through his hair, frustration and anger slowing his thought processes. “I won't say there's no problems, but…” but, he suddenly realised, in the end did any of that matter?   
  
Jim had to live with his father. He wasn't ready to be independent, might not be for a long time, regardless of the fact that he was now wealthy in his own right. In fact, the money only made things worse. Too many people would want to have a piece of Jim when the publicity made him famous. So, unless Blair was willing to be his full time keeper… and he wasn't.  
  
The thought didn't exactly make him proud of himself, but he knew his failings all too well. His relationships had always been easygoing, fun. When things had gotten difficult or too serious, he'd had no problems in moving on, just as his mother had always done. He couldn't do that to Jim, he valued Jim's friendship far too much. And it would be a shitty thing to do; not even he could 'detach with love' from a man in Jim's situation.  
  
He stared up at Jim's anxious face, sick at heart. It was time to cut his losses. To take the out William Ellison's prejudice had offered him and at least leave their friendship intact. “Yeah. It's true. Maybe not to the extent your father thinks it is, but it's there.”   
  
“Blair, I don't want you to be hurt.” Jim laid a hand lightly on Blair's shoulder.   
  
For a moment Blair felt like he had that morning, standing on the edge of the jungle with Enqueri, poised to take that last walk that would separate the two of them forever. A voice, deep inside, screamed to pull back, to do anything to hold on to what they had. Resolutely, he ignored it. He was doing the right thing.  
  
 _Coward_ , the voice told him.  
  
 _Realistic_ , he insisted.  _Responsible_.  
  
“It's okay. I understand.” Somehow, he summoned up a smile for Jim. “You can still come over. I was going to put a spare bed in the room downstairs anyway. You know, for visitors.”  
  
Jim smiled, unconvincingly. Had he expected Blair to protest? To fight to keep him? “I'd like that.”  
  
“Good, good.” He put his hand on Jim's arm, gently encouraging him towards the stairs. He'd definitely buy the place, Blair thought. A lot of the gloss of his pleasure was lost now, but it was a good investment, and he'd always liked to have plenty of space.   
  
***  
  
Blair was watching over the coffee maker in the Anthropology department's staff room when the sound of a throat being cleared made him jump. But it was only Hal Bruckner, his grey hair mussed and looking more harassed than usual.  
  
“Oh, hey, Hal. How's everything?” Blair turned his head to smile at the man who had once been his mentor. “Getting ready for that big trip you've been planning?”  
  
Hal Buckner dropped his newspaper and a small bakery bag onto the coffee table and sank into a chair with a big sigh, shaking his head in mock reproof. “By the time I've finished up all the loose ends here, I'll be too exhausted to move.” Then he laughed. “Well, I've got plenty of time. Retirement's like that, my boy.”  
  
“Yeah.” Blair grinned. “I can't believe you're really doing it. I thought anthropologists never retired.”  
  
“We don't. We just stop getting paid.” Buckner chuckled. “I'll have a coffee too, if it's ready.”  
  
“Sure.” The carafe was almost full. Blair grabbed another mug and spooned sugar into it. Hal had always had a sweet tooth. “So, have you decided where you're going to go yet?”  
  
“Everywhere.” There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Hal's voice.   
  
“Man, I envy you. I would  _love_  to do a world trip. Just go wherever I felt like.” The way his life had been with Naomi, before he settled in Cascade. He didn't really miss it – much. Just, once in a while, he got the yearning to just pack up and go somewhere; anywhere. He finished pouring the coffee, added milk to Hal's and turned. “I guess you'll be catching up with old friends as well?”  
  
“Of course.” Hal took the offered mug with a grin. “Free accommodation's not to be sneezed at.”  
  
Blair's grin froze and he nearly spilled his coffee as his eyes lit on the folded newspaper. “Uh, Hal, do you mind if I have a look at your newspaper?”  
  
Hal was already investigating the contents of his paper bag. He waved a hand absently. “Be my guest.”   
  
“Strangler's Back” screamed the headline in huge lettering. But what really caught Blair's attention were the two photos beneath: one, the photo Jack had once shown him of a young Jimmy Ellison, the other a recent photo of Jim obviously taken unawares. Clutching the newspaper in suddenly sweaty palms, Blair read the first couple of paragraphs with increasing disquiet.  
  
“Is something wrong, Blair?” A hand on his arm dragged Blair's attention away from the front page spread. “Was he a friend of yours? I only knew McCain slightly, but it's a terrible shock when something like this happens.”  
  
“No… no, I didn't know him. We met a couple times, I think but…” Blair rose to his feet, still clutching the paper. “Hal, do you mind if I…?”  
  
“Oh, just keep it. I'd finished anyway.” Hal's face was troubled. He smiled tentatively as Blair thanked him. “If there's anything I can do…”  
  
“Thanks,” Blair mumbled distractedly. “I've got to make a phone call.”  
  
***  
  
“Hello, Ellison residence.”  
  
Blair's nerves tightened a little at the sound of Sally's voice. Usually, she was the essence of quiet serenity but today she sounded distinctly rattled. “Sally, hi. It's Blair. Is Jim there?”  
  
“Oh, hello, Blair.” Relief coloured her voice. “Jimmy's gone out. Just a little while ago.”  
  
“Gone out?” He knew Jim went for walks around the neighbourhood, but there was something about Sally's tone that bothered him. “How long ago?”  
  
“Half an hour ago. He was watching the television in the living room and then I heard the front door close. Blair, I'm worried. It isn't like Jimmy to go out without saying anything.”  
  
“Sally, I'll come over, okay?” He glanced at his watch – nearly eleven. “I'll be there in ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.”  
  
It was closer to twenty by the time he parked his car in front of the Ellison house, and Sally opened the door, before he'd even reached it. Her face was creased with worry and she was holding a copy of the Tribune in one hand. “I called Mr Ellison, but his cell phone is switched off and I don't know where his meeting is. Stephen's out of town this week. I'm so worried, Blair. The radio says there's going to be snow, and...”  
  
“Would Jim have been able to read this?” He knew Jim had been having special tutoring, but wasn't sure how much he'd been able to learn in the last two months. It wasn't long to pick up a language as difficult as English, especially when Jim hadn't had any written language for over two decades.  
  
Sally nodded vigorously. “I think so. He reads better than he writes, and he's learning so fast. Mr Ellison is very pleased with his progress.”   
  
Okay, that gave him something to go on. He pointed to the paragraph about the case Jim had been involved in. “Does he know where this place… Manleo Field is? Is it near here?”  
  
“Oh, yes. When he first started going for walks, I would go too, so he wouldn't get lost. We went there several times. He liked the trees.” She smiled hopefully. “You think he'd go there?”  
  
“Yeah, I do.” He hugged her briefly. “I'll go look for him there. I'll call, okay? As soon as I find him.”  
  
With directions from Sally, it wasn't hard to find Manleo Field. Blair drove there in just a few minutes and parked on the side of the road. Jim was standing in the middle of the deserted playing field, staring at the trees that skirted one side of the park.  
  
Blair paused just long enough to call Sally as he'd promised and then he got out of the car and walked over to the tall, still figure. “Jim? Are you okay?”  
  
For a moment there was no response, and then Jim looked down at him, his face bleak. “I… Blair, I  _remember_ …”  
  
“Oh, Jim…” He put his arm around Jim's tense back. In spite of the therapy, he'd so far recovered few memories of his childhood or anything before joining the Chopec. The memories he'd recovered due to Blair's insistent prodding in Peru had been an isolated incident, not repeated since. “It's okay. It all happened a long time ago.”  
  
Jim nodded unhappily. “It doesn't feel like that.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  
  
“Let's go sit down.” Blair led the way over to a bench, and when they'd settled, turned to Jim, taking hold of his arm and rubbing it gently. “Tell me about it, Jim.”   
  
“There was a game. Football. My team won.” Jim's eyes were distant, unfocused, and it was no pleasing memory, by the expression on his face. “Stephen… Stevie was there, and some other boys. One of them took the ball and kicked it into the trees. He was angry because his team lost.”  
  
Blair prompted gently, “What happened then?” He already knew the answer; Jack's files were comprehensive. But he needed to know exactly what Jim remembered.  
  
“I went into the trees to find it and… and Bud…” Jim raised his hands to his face for a moment. “Bud was dead and I saw a man with a mark on his neck. He had a knife. I ran away.”  
  
“Do you remember anything else?” Blair prompted. “Anything to do with your senses?”  
  
For a moment Jim hesitated, then his head turned away, his gaze returning to the trees. “Just… the police came and they didn't believe me, and Dad took me home.”  
  
Blair's cell phone rang and he answered it, standing and walking a few paces away. Pointless, really, considering that Jim could have heard the conversation – both sides of it – from the other side of the field. “Hi, it's Blair. Oh, hi, Sally.”  
  
She sounded even more distressed than earlier. “Blair, the police are here. They want to speak with Jimmy.”  
  
“I guess they do. I'll bring him home. Be there in five minutes, okay?” He turned to find Jim had already risen to his feet. “We're on our way, Sally.”  
  
***  
  
It amused Blair, in a cynical kind of way, and now that he had some distance – literally – that William Ellison's son rated a visit from no less a person than the captain of Cascade's Major Crime division. Even more so, when it became obvious that Captain Simon Banks furiously resented being sent on what he so obviously thought was a fool's errand.  
  
But Banks was kind of intimidating, both in height, build, and temperament, and Blair was perfectly happy to contemplate the big cop's irritation from a distance of ten yards and the safety of his own car. The silver sedan turned right, and Blair followed, having opted to take himself and Jim to the latest crime scene under their own power rather than share a ride with Banks.  
  
“You don't have to do this,” he commented, not for the first time, to Jim. “Nobody believes for a minute that you're involved in these murders. I'm sure your dad could have the pitbull called off.”  
  
“I want to help.” Jim was watching the car they were following. For some strange reason, he seemed to have taken a liking to Banks. He turned to face Blair, his forehead knitted in a frown. “What's a pitbull?”  
  
“A dog.” Blair chuckled at the thought of how Banks might react to his description. “They're aggressive and once they get hold of something they don't let go easily.”  
  
“Oh.” Jim grinned, and Blair realised with a pang of regret how rarely he saw Jim smile any more. Too soon, the smile disappeared. “Blair, why do you think the killer put my photo on the victim?”  
  
“Honestly? I don't know, and I don't think Banks or any of the police psychologists know either.” He realised, suddenly, where they were headed – Banks hadn't told them where the new murder scene was. “Uh oh… Jim, you might want to shut down your sense of smell a bit. We're going to the rubbish dump.”  
  
Jim was already gagging a little, but he nodded, his jaw working and nostrils clamping shut. It seemed to be more of an effort for him than usual. Blair parked the car a little way behind Banks' and put a hand on Jim's shoulder. “Are you going to be okay?”  
  
“Yeah.” Jim's voice was strained. He swallowed, his face paling, then seemed to come right. “I'll be okay.”  
  
Blair wasn't particularly reassured. “If you need to get out, just… just grab my arm, okay?”  
  
Banks was waiting impatiently for them by the police cordon, fending off a crowd of journalists with short, irritated replies to their questions. When Jim and Blair reached him, he pushed aside the tape and ushered them through.  
  
“Oh, man…” Blair hadn't expected the body to still be there. “Jim…”  
  
Jim just nodded, his eyes moving impassively over the body and the surrounding area. Banks watched him with a mixture of scepticism and curiosity. “Is there anything familiar? Something that reminds you of the case you were involved in?”  
  
Jim frowned, his head moving slowly in a negative. He walked around the area, placing his feet carefully amongst the scattered garbage, and Blair was struck by how well he was handling the unfamiliar situation. He wondered, and was chilled by the thought, whether this was due to the training he'd had from the Center.  
  
The circuit completed, Jim returned to Blair's side, looking disappointed. “Nothing?”  
  
“No.” Jim met Banks' eyes apologetically. “It's just like Bud's murder, but that was all in the newspaper.”  
  
“Jim…” Blair grabbed Jim's arm, suddenly remembering something from Jack's files. “There was a smell, where Bud was killed. You used it to identify the knife the Strangler used, remember? Can you smell it here?”  
  
“It's a garbage dump, Sandburg.” Banks turned away sharply. “How in hell can he identify one smell in a place like this? Besides, that knife is in the evidence lock up.”  
  
But Jim inhaled delicately, and then nodded decisively. “It's here.” He looked a little ill, and Blair loosened his grip, sliding his fingers down to grasp Jim's hand. Jim managed a tight smile. “I'm all right.”  
  
“You can smell a particular scent in the middle of a  _garbage dump_?” Banks looked as though he was torn between disbelief and being wildly impressed. “Are you sure about this?”  
  
Blair grinned. “He's sure. Believe me.” He glanced at Jim, concerned about the effect of the ripe, sickly odour of the dump on sentinel senses. “Is it okay if we go now?”  
  
“I'd like you to come downtown and make a statement.” Banks began to usher them away from the immediate area of the body, but stopped as a thickset Native American came over, peeling off a pair of latex gloves. “What is it, Dan?”  
  
“This.” The man held out a scrap of newspaper and Blair caught a glimpse of Jim's photo. “It was tucked into the front of Smith's jacket.”  
  
“I thought you said he was killed last night?” Blair craned around Banks' shoulder – the guy was far too tall for him to look  _over_  his shoulder.  
  
“He was,” Dan replied. “The killer must have come back after he saw the paper.”  
  
“He wants Jim involved.” Blair glanced uneasily at Jim, who was frowning again, though whether from the smell of the dump or because of the killer's interest in him, he wasn't sure. “Do you think Jim could be in any danger from this guy?”  
  
Before Banks could answer, there was a cry from one of the small crowd of reporters. “Hey, isn't he that Ellison guy? What's he doing here?”  
  
Banks cursed as other voices took up the cry. “What's Ellison's involvement in this case?” “Is he a suspect?” and, more unnervingly, “Is he using his super senses?”  
  
Ignoring the reporters' attempts to get closer, Banks edged Jim and Blair away. “Let's get you both out of here. I don't need a damned feeding frenzy on my crime scene.”   
  
***  
  
“I don't like it.” William Ellison's voice was flat with anger. He glared at Blair. “You had no right to involve Jimmy in some damn publicity stunt.”  
  
Before Blair could respond, Jim spoke quietly, “Dad, I  _wanted_  to help.”  
  
It stopped the old man in his tracks. Up till now, as far as Blair had seen, Jim had been the perfect, docile son, acting more like the twelve year old he'd been when he last lived in this house than a grown man.   
  
Ellison threw another glare in Blair's direction, as if this new development was his fault too. “This is ridiculous. How can you possibly help with this case? It's a waste of your time and the police's.”  
  
“I remember what happened.” Jim seemed almost reluctant to admit it, Blair thought. “When Bud was killed. I remember seeing the man with the mark on his neck, and I remember… you said…” Jim hesitated as his father's breathing hitched audibly and when he continued his voice was shaking, “you said, 'you got to stop pretending or people are going to think you're a freak', but I wasn't pretending, Dad.”  
  
It was hard for Blair to say which of the two men looked more devastated. After a moment William turned away slightly, his shoulders slumped, his hands trembling visibly at his sides. “I know, Jimmy. I just wanted to protect you.”  
  
“Mr Ellison…”  
  
Ellison whirled around, his face contorted with anger. “No! You stay out of this, Sandburg. I've tried to protect Jimmy, but you… you just barge on into things you don't understand.” He swiped his hand across his mouth. “I did it to protect you, Jimmy. I should never have let those cops interview you the second time. Just look what came of it. And now you want to get involved in another murder? I won't allow it.”  
  
“Dad…” Jim shook his head, looking almost dazed. He cast an appealing glance at Blair.   
  
“Jim, it's okay.” Blair kept his voice low. He touched Jim's arm lightly, trying to convey support and comfort, but the tension in the room was almost overwhelming. “We can talk about it later, when… when we're all a bit calmer.”  
  
“I don't think so.” Ellison's voice was hard, still full of anger. “I want you to leave. Now.”  
  
He'd been anticipating some kind of showdown between them for weeks, but this was possibly the worst time it could have happened. For a moment, Blair considered refusing, but Jim nodded reassuringly at him. “Okay. Jim, you know you can call me, right? Any time.”  
  
“I know.” Somehow, Jim managed a half-smile. “I'll be all right.”  
  
It was small enough comfort, but all that Blair had as he trudged down the footpath to the street. The sky was so overcast it felt like evening was falling in the middle of the afternoon and snowflakes were swirling down. It looked like the threatened storm was closer than had been forecast.  
  
***  
  
By the next morning, the whole of Cascade had shut down. That totally suited Blair's mood. He stayed home, stoking the log burner and toying with the chapter he was supposed to have finished by the end of the week. Pity that he really couldn't give a shit right now.  
  
He added a couple of commas and typed nearly a whole sentence before backspacing it out again, then saved the file and shut down his laptop with a sigh. He wanted to see Jim, but nobody was driving anywhere today. Maybe he could get across town tomorrow; snow rarely settled in Cascade for very long. Reaching for the remote, Blair flicked on the TV, only to see a news report of the effect the snow was having on the city of Cascade. He could look out his window and see that.  
  
He wandered over and looked out the window. Jim was standing in the street below, staring up at him. “Oh, my god. Jim, what are you  _doing_  down there? Come on up!”  
  
He hadn't spoken any louder than normal, but Jim nodded and headed for the door to the apartment building. Blair was waiting by the lift door when it opened and Jim stumbled out. His jacket and pants were soaked and his hair plastered to his head by half-melted snow. His face was drawn and miserable and he was shivering uncontrollably.  
  
“Oh, man. You need to get warm.” Blair grabbed his arm and dragged him into the loft. “How long have you been out there? How did you…?” He started pulling the sodden clothes off Jim's unresponsive body. “Tell me you didn't walk all the way from your Dad's house.”  
  
“I won't.” Jim said it straight-faced, probably unaware of any possible humour in his words. The shivers were growing more pronounced and Blair abandoned him to reach for the throw that lay across the back of the couch.  
  
“Get the rest of those clothes off.” He began to rub Jim's bare chest roughly, trying to stimulate his circulation. “Jim, you can't go walking around in a blizzard. You could get sick or even die from the cold, man.”  
  
They managed to get Jim undressed, with much awkward bumping and manoeuvring. Blair left him on the couch, wrapped in the damp rug, and went to open a can of soup. While that was warming in the microwave, he went into the storage room under the stairs and grabbed an old comforter from the closet. Armed with the comforter and a mug of soup, he headed back to Jim.  
  
“Drink this.” He helped Jim hold the mug between chilled and shaking hands, watching as he sipped cautiously at the hot liquid. “Are you okay? I mean…” Jim didn't look good at all, and not just from his walk in the freezing conditions outside. It seemed like he'd aged ten years overnight.  
  
“I…” Jim's eyes dropped to his mug. He shivered again, so badly the soup almost sloshed out of the mug. “ _Chiriwanmi_.”  
  
 _I'm cold_ …   
  
“Oh, Jim...” Blair reached up and wrapped his arms around Jim's shoulders, his heart aching at the misery in Jim's face. “It'll be all right, we just have to get you warm again.”  
  
***  
  
Waking up with Jim lying beside him Blair could almost believe they were back in Peru and he'd never left the Chopec, or Enqueri. Almost. Until he opened his eyes and found himself staring up at snowflakes drifting onto the skylight over his head. It had started snowing again.  
  
Blair stroked the fine dark hair and smiled. They might have slept together only to get Jim warm, but this was just the perfect way to wake up in the morning. The wind had dropped and the air was still, with the sound deadening effect that snow always seemed to have, even in a city the size of Cascade.  
  
Half an hour later, his bladder screaming now instead of merely aching resentfully, Blair was forced to slip out of the bed and tiptoe downstairs to the bathroom. It felt so good to piss, even if the bathroom was uncomfortably cold to be naked in. He'd just finished when Jim eased up beside him. Blair moved away and heard another stream hit the back of the porcelain bowl and a sigh of relief echoed his own, earlier sigh.  
  
Blair went to wash his hands. Jim followed. The feeling was cosily domestic, almost seductive in its normality. He turned, and found himself up against Jim's body.   
  
“Hey.” He smiled, hoping the closeness between them might develop into something more, but Jim stepped back.  
  
“Why don't you have a shower?” Blair turned towards the door, unwilling to push and surprised by the depth of the hurt confusion he felt. They'd already hashed this out, after all. “I'll go make breakfast.”  
  
“All right.” Jim's voice was quiet, still a little blurry with sleep. It made it hard for Blair to read what he was feeling. “Thanks, Blair.”  
  
“Hey, what are friends for, huh?” He turned his head to smile at the other man. “Don't use all the hot water, okay?” He closed the door softly behind him.  
  
Dressed in his comfiest sweats and a thick sweater, Blair got the coffee started before throwing some frozen blueberries into a muffin mix. In five minutes the muffins were in the oven and Jim was on his way out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel.  
  
“I've put some clothes out for you on the couch. I think they'll be okay.” They were his biggest pair of sweats and T-shirt, with a hand knitted sweater Naomi had made for him during one of her maternal fits, which was way too big for him and ought to fit Jim reasonably well. “Breakfast will be ready in ten.”  
  
The bacon was crisping up nicely in the pan, and the scrambled eggs were just about ready when Jim came into the kitchen. “I'll look after them. If you hurry you could have a shower.”  
  
“Yeah?” Blair grinned up at him. “What do you know about cooking, man?”  
  
“Sally's teaching me.” Jim stared down at him with a hint of pride. “I can make pancakes and beef casserole.”  
  
“Well, I don't like my eggs overcooked, so I'll have that shower later.” Blair handed the wooden spoon over to Jim. He took the plates he'd had warming in the oven drawer and a couple of mugs over to the table where he'd already laid out knives and forks and a pitcher of orange juice.  
  
Returning to the kitchen, Blair lifted the coffee pot. “You want coffee?”  
  
An eager smile banished the thoughtful expression from Jim's face. “Please.”  
  
“You are totally assimilated, my man.” Blair grinned as he poured the coffee. “Have you tried hotdogs yet?”  
  
Jim nodded. “Stephen bought me one. I didn't like the mustard.”  
  
They chatted amicably while Jim devoured scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns. Now that Blair was really noticing, he thought Jim looked as though he'd lost weight. Blair excused himself to collect the muffins from the oven. When he returned with a plate piled high in one hand and a tub of butter in the other, Jim's eyes lit up. “They smell as good as Sally's.”   
  
“Then she's been cheating.” Blair chuckled at Jim's reaction. “I used a muffin mix. But I'm willing to bet Sally's never let any such thing across the threshold of the Ellison household.”  
  
Jim was too busy buttering a muffin to answer. Blair snagged one from the plate and split it open. “I'd better try calling your dad again.” He'd tried last night, with no success, but maybe the phone company had got the lines fixed by now.  
  
When Jim only nodded without speaking or looking up, Blair studied him intently. “What's wrong, Jim? Why did you walk through a snow storm to get here?”  
  
Blue eyes lifted reluctantly to meet his. “Everything's too… too  _noisy_ , too smelly… I can't sleep and I can't eat. How do people live like this?”  
  
“Most of them have grown up with it, Jim.” Blair touched the back of his hand lightly. “And none of them are sentinels. But you know how to control your senses. Or… Jim… sometimes, when a person's unhappy, or worried, it makes other things harder to deal with.”  
  
Jim's face went completely blank and he looked down at his plate again.  
  
Blair swallowed a lump of muffin that suddenly seemed very large. “Is your dad still mad at me?”  
  
“He doesn't want me to talk to you.” Jim's voice was quiet. “He said you don't care what happens to me as long as you get your… your… fifteen minutes of fame?” He looked up at Blair curiously.  
  
And that hurt, goddammit, even as Blair acknowledged that the old man had some justification for thinking that way. “Is that what  _you_  think, Jim?”  
  
“I think…” Jim shook his head helplessly. “He's my father, Blair. An elder. I don't…”  
  
“It's okay.” Blair's heart sank. Of course this would be tearing Jim apart. Blair was his friend, but respect for the elders of the tribe was ingrained in him. “I won't make you choose between us, Jim, I promise.”  
  
“But he's wrong.” Finally, Jim's eyes met his again. “Blair, he's wrong about you, and he's wrong not to want me to help the police.”  
  
“He's afraid, Jim. The last time these murders happened and you helped the police, he lost you. And he still thinks of you as though you were a child. For all the years you were with the Chopec, growing up, he only had the memory of you when you were twelve years old.”  
  
Jim nodded, but Blair could see the pain in his eyes.  
  
“And, you know, it's probably the same for you. You only know how to relate to him the way you did when you were twelve. Neither of you had the chance to let your relationship mature gradually, the way it normally would between a father and son.”  
  
“Like Stephen.” Jim nodded. “He treats Stephen differently than me. Like a man.”  
  
“Yeah.” Blair smiled. “Maybe you need to talk to him about that. Just… carefully, okay?”  
  
Jim's head came up suddenly and turned towards the door; his body tensed. “Dad…”  
  
“He's here?” Blair pushed his seat back and stood. “Well, that saves us a phone call.” He didn't miss Jim's sudden immobility as he passed. He managed to plaster a smile on his face as he opened the door, mere seconds after the sound of William Ellison's knuckles rapping on the wooden surface.   
  
The smile evaporated instantly in the face of Ellison's obvious anger and the presence of Simon Banks looming behind him. Stephen Ellison's worried face, glimpsed over his father's other shoulder, only confirmed Blair's sense of impending trouble.   
  
“Hey. I'm glad you're here. We were gonna call you when…” William Ellison brushed past him and headed straight for his son, followed by the other two men. Stephen gave him a faintly apologetic look.  
  
“Jimmy, what the hell were you doing, disappearing like that?” Ellison's hand came down on Jim's shoulder as he started, belatedly, to get to his feet. “Did Sandburg force you into coming here?”  
  
“Did I  _what_?” Blair hurried over to join the two men. Jim reached his full height and stood looking down at his father, yet somehow, he seemed smaller, uncertain of himself. It didn't seem like their talk had helped much after all. “Now, look…”  
  
“No.  _You_  look.” Banks placed himself between Blair and the others. “Mr Ellison… Mr  _William_  Ellison… has made some serious allegations about your behaviour towards his son. Allegations that I have no choice but to take very seriously.”  
  
The bad tempered growl in his voice and the sideways glance at William Ellison seemed to indicate that Banks wasn't altogether pleased at being a part of this. Still, Blair was under no illusion that Banks wouldn't take out his ill-temper on whoever he deemed to be at fault.   
  
“Fine. Why don't you let Jim tell you how he  _walked_  here in the middle of a  _blizzard_  and just about  _froze_  to death.” Blair laid on the sarcasm nice and thick. He saw Banks' lips set in an angry line. “Jim?”  
  
“It doesn't matter!” William Ellison almost shouted the words, and Blair saw Jim flinch. “You've exerted an undue influence over my son from the start. First this book nonsense and now you're encouraging him to get involved in murder investigations. He's not competent to make these kind of decisions, and the first thing I'm going to do when we leave here is to have him placed in my custody so I can stop you taking advantage of him.”  
  
“You can't do that.” Blair looked desperately from Stephen to Banks and then to Jim. None of them seemed willing to stand up to Ellison. “Jim may be inexperienced in western society, but he's not incompetent, and he's learning fast. You can't just take away Jim's civil rights because you don't like who he chooses as a friend.”  
  
“Dad, I told you…” Stephen's uneasy speech was cut short by a glare from his father, but Banks was obviously made of sterner material.  
  
“Are you telling me this is all about who your son associates with?” The glare that Banks turned on William Ellison was more than a match for the older man. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigar, putting it into his mouth and chomping down on it in what was clearly a habitual behaviour, since he made no attempt to light it. “In that case I am  _leaving_. And if I hear anything more about what is nothing but a family dispute, I'll have the pair of you charged with wasting police time. Just work it  _out_ , gentlemen.”  
  
Blair smothered a grin at his broad, departing back; then steeled himself to face Jim's father. “Mr Ellison…”  
  
“Dad…” _  
_  
“All right. It's possible I may be mistaken about allowing Jimmy to be involved in the investigation.” Ellison glanced at the three of them, obviously realising he was outnumbered on this issue. “And maybe the book won't turn out to be a complete fiasco, though I have my doubts about that. However…” his fists clenched at his sides and tension flowed into his shoulders. “…I don't care what you did in the jungle, Sandburg, but Jimmy has no idea what could happen if word of this… this liaison… got out. There'd be no hope of his living a normal life… a wife, children…”  
  
“I don't want children.” Jim's voice was quiet, but his father stopped dead. “I don't want a wife.”  
  
It was left to Stephen to break the silence. “What do you want, Jim?”  
  
Jim's face turned to Blair for a moment, then he looked away and Blair's heart started to pound against his ribs. He hadn't seen such longing in Jim's face since that night in Lima, when Jim had come to him for comfort. And he realised just how much of a mistake he'd made in acquiescing to William Ellison's demands. He'd held back so much of himself from Jim, both then and when he'd asked Jim to stay at the loft with him all those weeks ago.  
  
Well, no more. If Jim didn't want him, then Blair had no choice but to accept his decision; but he'd be damned if he was going to give Jim up a third time without a fight. Ignoring the other two men, Blair moved closer to Jim and laid a hand lightly on his arm.  
  
“Jim, I know your dad only wants what's best for you but, honestly, two guys living together… things aren't as bad as they were when your Dad was a young man, okay?” He scowled at the older man all the same. “Mr Ellison, exactly  _what_  have you been telling him?”  
  
“The truth. You're an untenured  _teacher_ , Sandburg, and the kind of lifestyle you lead… I don't want my son being a part of that.” Ellison stared down his nose at Blair. “If your… your proclivities were to become known to the university…”  
  
Blair laughed angrily, though it cracked in the middle. “This may come as a surprise to you, Mr Ellison, but Rainier University has a very progressive policy on gay and lesbian issues. If anything, it would probably  _help_  my chances of getting tenure, but in fact, I don't need any help. There's a tenured position coming up in a couple of months and I've been assured it's virtually mine. Even if I don't get it, once the first of those books is published I'll have no problem getting a tenured position with some other university.”  
  
He turned from father to son. “Look, Jim, I'm not saying bad things will never happen. Two men being together still isn't as accepted here as it is with the Chopec, but it's not going to put either of us in any serious danger. No more, at least, than anyone else living in a large city.”  
  
Jim nodded, accepting the information, though Blair saw his face was still wary. It was time – long past time – that he made a choice. That it was a choice he'd been longing to make for nearly six months now didn't make it any easier. He saw Jim's eyes track the bob of his larynx as he swallowed nervously, and wondered if Jim could smell his fear.  
  
“If you want…” and, no. That was not at all convincing. He took hold of Jim's arm and led him away from his scowling father. “Jim, I want…”  
  
“Sandburg, if you think I'm going to stand here and listen to you proposition my son…”  
  
Blair turned, allowing the anger he'd held down for so long to surface. “If you don't want to do that, you know where the door is.” And, before Ellison could take a breath to respond, his face twisting with outrage, Blair ploughed on, “I've held back for months out of respect for your wishes, but that ends now. Jim and I are going to talk and then if he wants to come back to your house, I'll drive him there myself.”  
  
“He's right.” Finally Stephen stepped up. His eyes flickered over Jim and Blair as he began to steer his father towards the door. “They're both grown men, Dad. Let's go.”  
  
“Thanks, Stephen.” Blair felt almost weak with relief. The tension in the room was becoming unbearable.   
  
At the door, William Ellison baulked. “Jimmy…”   
  
“Dad, it's all right.” Jim's voice was gentle and he smiled briefly, reassuringly. “I'll call you later.”  
  
Blair watched, heart pounding again, as Stephen hustled his father out the door. He closed and locked it carefully behind them, then set the chain, just to be sure. He sighed, leaning his forehead against the painted wooden surface. Now came the hard part.  
  
Then he took a deep breath and turned to face Jim.  
  
***  
  
He hadn't expected it to be  _this_  hard… he was a guy, Jim was a guy, it was never going to be easy, but at least he'd expected it to be over quickly because, well, they were  _guys_ , dammit. But William and Stephen had been gone for nearly an hour and still they were fumbling around, not really saying anything. Not resolving anything.  
  
It was his own fault, Blair supposed. He'd been trying so hard not to pressure Jim into doing something he didn't want that he'd come off sounding at best half-hearted, at worst indifferent. And then Jim had retreated behind a polite, impenetrable mask and was now resisting all attempts to draw him out again.  
  
Blair huffed out his breath in frustration and shoved his hair back from his face with hands that shook. “I'm really wishing Enqueri was here right now.”  
  
And,  _fuck_ , way to make the situation even worse, he thought, as Jim flinched noticeably.  
  
“Oh, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that like it sounded.” He went over to Jim, lifting a hand to lay palm flat against his chest. “Jim, I'm…”  
  
“No.” Jim shook his head, his eyes fixed on Blair's face. “No. Blair…” he placed his fingertips carefully against Blair's lips, silencing him. And Blair realised that there was something different in the timbre of Jim's voice, in the way he held his body. It was almost too subtle for him to put a name to it, but if he had to, he'd swear that it was not Jim, but Enqueri who was staring so intently into his eyes.   
  
It was enough to banish his frustration, to carry him on a wave of longing past all his uncertainties and insecurities. “Oh, god… Jim… 'queri…” he shuddered as Jim's fingers slipped, the tips dragging slightly against his lower lip, and reached up to curl his palm around the nape of Jim's neck. Drawing Jim's head down until their faces were so close… and then he waited, because Jim had to want this as much as he did.  
  
One breath. Two… and then Jim closed the space between them, his lips barely touching Blair's for the briefest of moments. He drew back again, eyes closed, his breath puffing softly against Blair's lips; and Blair made a strangled sound deep in his throat and kissed him back with all the longing he'd held inside himself for so many months.  
  
There should have been fireworks, or shooting stars, maybe, but Blair felt only the slow surge of desire, relentless as an ocean swell and about as easy to resist. He didn't want to resist this; instead he flung himself heedlessly into the tug and flow of it, moaning as Jim's lips parted against his and Jim's tongue slid over his, smooth and sensual, tasting faintly of coffee and blueberries.  
  
It was the answer to all his unasked questions, Blair realised. Totally unlike the impassioned rutting in the jungle, or the solace he'd offered Jim in Lima. And yet, it was utterly familiar, the proper culmination of all those months of attraction and denial before he'd left the Chopec to return to his own life. This was what they should have had from the start.  
  
Why had it taken so long for him to realise they belonged together? How had he ever imagined he could live without this?  
  
Then he forgot the questions altogether as Jim's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close, pressing kiss after molten kiss against his lips. Blair sank willingly into the oblivion Jim offered, losing all sense of his surroundings until a blunt pain in the back of his ankles broke the spell.   
  
He staggered, found himself suddenly eye to eye with Jim, and blinked dazedly. Somehow, he'd backed the pair of them halfway across the room without even realising it and now he was standing on the bottom step of the stairs leading up to his bedroom. He smiled, not needing to ask, and took hold of Jim's borrowed sweater in both fists. Jim's mouth met his again and, joined together, they stumbled up the stairs, feet clumsy with haste.  
  
It took all the concentration Blair could spare to negotiate the stairs without breaking either the kiss or both their necks, and by the time they reached the top he was panting harshly. “Let me…” he dragged the sweater over Jim's head, allowed Jim to return the favour before kissing him again, once, hard and urgent.   
  
The t-shirt he'd loaned Jim was so tight it could have been painted on his body, and Blair eyed the results appreciatively before running his fingers over peaked nipples.   
  
Jim shuddered, his eyes darkening as his pupils expanded. “Blair…” he leaned in to steal another kiss, two, three… while Blair worked his fingers under the warm sweatpants and eased them down.  
  
He hadn't bothered to offer underwear, and Jim hadn't asked. He was glad of that now as he pushed Jim backwards onto the bed before pausing to strip off his remaining layers of shirt, henley and t-shirt. In spite of the fire downstairs, and the heat churned out by the boiler, the temperature up here was barely above frigid, and he hurried to shuck his jeans and thick socks before unceremoniously yanking Jim's sweatpants and socks over his ankles and feet. Much as he would have liked to take the time to appreciate the view – Jim sprawled loosely on the bed, his cock half-hard and curving over his belly beneath the too short t-shirt – Blair dived for the bed as soon as he'd finished, pulling the comforter over them both and blessing the cosy flannel sheets he'd bought only last month.  
  
Jim lunged up, sealing their mouths together again and twisting their bodies so Blair lay beneath him. “ _Ach'uyamuy_.”  
  
Come closer? Blair chuckled softly, it was hard to get any closer than they already were, but he was willing to try. He pushed his groin up against Jim's, their cocks sliding wetly against each other and Jim groaned, closing his eyes. “Oh, 'queri…  _much'achiywa_!”  _Kiss me_.   
  
Jim obeyed, prolonging the kiss until they were both breathless, then drawing back as though to inspect the results. Blair traced the outline of Jim's lips with his fingertip, so damn beautiful, then snatched it away with a grin as Jim nipped at it. “You've got way too many clothes on.”  
  
“Then take it off.” Jim smiled, a cautious quirking of the corners of his mouth, but his eyes were twinkling with humour as Blair dragged the t-shirt up his body.  
  
He took the advantage, while Jim was temporarily blinded by the cloth, and reversed their positions with a quick twist. As their laughter faded, Blair stared down into Jim's face and his heart began to pound. “I want to fuck you.” His voice was steady, but low and rough with emotion.   
  
Heat sparked in Jim's eyes and he nodded almost curtly. “ _Yes_.”  
  
That was all. It was everything necessary. Blair felt no inclination to laugh now. His hands shook as he reached for the nightstand and the lube that was stored in the drawer. No improvisations this time, he wanted this to last as long as possible, and he sure as hell didn't want to cause any discomfort for Jim or for himself.  
  
He took his time preparing Jim, watching his face tighten with need, then slacken into pleasure; waiting until he could feel the bone deep quiver of arousal before slicking up his own cock and sliding into his lover. Jim made a pained, helpless little sound and arched up against him and suddenly it was Blair who needed steadying. He dropped his head against Jim's shoulder, breathing raucously and shaking.  
  
“ _Munaqiy, qasiyachiy_.” Jim's large, gentle hand caressed his skin soothingly. “ _Qasiyachiy_.”  
  
 _Calm down_ … fuck… Blair dragged in a deep breath. “ _Allillanmi_.”  _I'm fine_. Only, he wasn't, not even close; but he got himself under control and began to move his hips in long, slow,  _deep_ thrusts. Forcing himself to ignore what Jim had called him –  _munaqiy_ , my beloved - but so much more than that; it was used for couples who were betrothed, promised to each other for the rest of their lives. It was what he wanted, no doubt about that, but the immensity of it nearly overwhelmed him.  
  
Jim continued to stroke and soothe him; his eyes met Blair's with no hint of uncertainty, and Blair knew that he'd simply been waiting for this day for… how long? Almost since the beginning, Blair realised, and the revelation stunned him, making him falter for a moment. He leaned down to kiss Jim and whispered “ _Munaqiy, wayllusqa kanki_.”  _My beloved, you are loved_.”  
  
“ _Ari_.”  _Yes_. It was all that needed to be said, and Jim smiled, reaching up to touch his lips with careful fingers.  
  
Blair flicked his tongue across the tips then sucked two fingers into his mouth where they slid across his tongue in a slow, steady rhythm that matched the movement of his cock inside Jim's body. After a moment, the fingers were withdrawn and Blair felt them again, tracing a cool, moist trail along his spine… down into the curve of his lower back and between his ass cheeks. When they probed delicately at his ass, Blair shivered helplessly, groaning into Jim's shoulder.  
  
White heat blazed through his body as Jim touched him deep inside. He shuddered and jerked, plunging deeper into Jim,  _driving_  into him recklessly while Jim wrapped his legs around Blair's hips and urged him on with choked sounds of pleasure. It was far too intense to last, and it came almost as a relief to feel the pressure building… building… building until he was barely conscious of anything but raw sensation. And yet. And yet, there was Jim, with him in this, always with him, and Blair felt the last barriers melt away into oblivion. And carried with him the faint, broken whisper of Jim's voice: “ _Wataypusajy_ ”.  
  
***  
  
He woke feeling contented and lazy. And, god,  _warm_. So warm. Blair smiled and nuzzled into Jim's shoulder, feeling his lover's arm tighten briefly around him. It reminded him of the mornings after they'd slept together, chastely, in the Chopec village. Only much, much better…  
  
Still, there was a niggling sensation in the back of his mind, an inconvenient reminder of things left undone, things needing to be resolved. He didn't want to think about that right now and spoil the feeling of contentment, but he couldn't quite banish the feeling, either. When he felt Jim stir more purposefully, Blair sighed and pushed himself up onto his elbow.  
  
“Hey.” He smiled tentatively down at Jim and saw the smile returned, but with a hint of wariness in the drowsy blue eyes. His heart quickened a little. Surely they weren't going back to square one all over again? The thought was unbearable. He lowered his head and kissed Jim, gently teasing apart his lips until he could slide his tongue into Jim's mouth for a short, sweet caress. “It's okay, 'queri. We'll work things out.”  
  
The troubled look on Jim's face deepened, and Blair heard again his own voice:  _I'm really wishing Enqueri was here right now_ , and saw in his mind's eye Jim's flinch. “What I said, before about… about wanting Enqueri… Jim, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that… like I…  
  
Jim shook his head, silencing Blair. “It's all right. I don't like Jim either.”  
  
“You don't… Jim, what are you saying?” So this was what it felt like to have a mine explode under your feet. “Please, you have to talk to me. I need to understand what's going on with you.”   
  
When Jim simply looked away, Blair lifted a hand to his cheek and turned his face back. “Tell me, 'queri,” he whispered in Quechua. “Tell me what's in your heart.”  
  
Jim groaned softly, reaching up to press his forehead against Blair's for a moment before pulling away. When he spoke it was in English, although more stilted than usual. “While we were in Lima, Dad told me that I had to become Jim – Jimmy – Ellison again, and that it would be better if I forgot about the time I spent with the Chopec. I  _tried_ , Blair. It was hard, but I tried.”  
  
“No. Oh, Jim, no…” Blair forced his voice to remain steady but, once again, he found himself wanting to strangle William Ellison. It was beginning to seem like there was no end to the damage that man had done to his son. “He was  _wrong_ , okay? I know he only wanted what was best for you, but you can't just… you spent over half your life with the Chopec. You can't just… just pretend it never happened. You wouldn't be the man you are without those experiences.”  
  
“I don't like it… all my memories of Jimmy – they're all of death and killing. Bud's murder, the people he… I… killed for the Center,” Jim dragged in a shaken breath and visibly forced himself to continue, “the men I killed to protect the Chopec. I don't want to be a killer, Blair, but that's all Jim knows.”  
  
“No, Jim, it's not,” Blair said firmly. “It's all you remember right now, but you'll start to remember other things. Good things. You know, Sally's talked to me about when you were a kid, and there were some great things that happened. It wasn't all bad, and when you remember more of those things, you'll feel better about who Jim Ellison really is. He's a good, decent man. He has to be,  _munaqiy_ , because he's a part of you.”  
  
“But you don't love him.” It was a statement of fact, delivered with a quiet finality that chilled Blair. He was so certain of it, so sure that Blair could not love him.   
  
“No… it's not…” he wasn't sure how to explain his conflicted feelings even to himself. “I mean, sure, it's been… well… it's been difficult. So much of the man I knew – loved – was just  _gone_  and I didn't know what to do. You've had so much to adjust to and I didn't want to be pushing you into anything. I promised your father…” which had never been more than a convenient excuse. Jesus, what a shit he'd been.  
  
“Look, 'queri… Jim… I'm not… I've always steered clear of making a commitment. I like sex. I like being with people, but I've never wanted it to get too deep, you know?”  
  
To his relief, Jim nodded soberly. “I know. I've always known that, Blair.”  
  
“The thing is, when I met you, it was the first time I'd ever thought about that. About staying with just one guy.” Even now, he felt his chest tightening, his heart starting to race a little. “It scared me. Especially since I knew I couldn't stay with the Chopec and that you wouldn't leave.”  
  
“I would have left with you, Blair, if you had wanted me.” Jim's faint smile failed to take away the sting of his words. He tucked a strand of hair behind Blair's ear, his fingers sliding down to cup Blair's jaw. “But you were not ready. I knew it wasn't the right time. Incacha knew it too.”  
  
“Incacha…” Blair remembered, suddenly, his anger with them both and, much earlier, a word he hadn't understood at the time. But now… “he said I was…” and Jim had said it again, not an hour before. “what does…  _wataypusaj_ … I mean I  _know_  what the words are but…” ' _watay_ ' – to bind, and ' _pusaj_ ' – a leader or guide; but what did it  _mean_?  
  
“It means you are my guide, bonded to me by the uniting of our spirits.” Jim was watching him with carefully concealed anxiety, but Blair saw through the calm façade. “That was the reason, Incacha was so angry with us, because we bound ourselves even though you were leaving.”  
  
“I… I didn't realise.” Blair sat up, shaken by this revelation, and noticed that Jim's eyes followed him uncertainly. “Jim, you should have told me. What if…?”  
  
“Blair, nothing happened. I was fine.” Jim grasped his wrist, holding him reassuringly. “And… and if you don't want… it doesn't have to mean anything. I've been all right until now. Nothing has to change.”  
  
He still wasn't sure of where he stood with Blair. And he'd waited – all these months, waiting patiently, through emotional and – god – physical upheavals; his whole life turned upside down… “I don't deserve you, 'queri.” Blair saw a hint of doubt creep into Jim's eyes. “I don't deserve you, but by all the gods, I'm going to have you.”  
  
For the first time in months, Blair saw the shadows lift from Jim's eyes. “You always have,  _munaqiy_.”  
  
***  
  
“So, how can I help you gentlemen?” Simon Banks' polite question barely concealed his impatience.  
  
No wonder, really, Blair thought. There'd been a lull in the Country Club Strangler's activity over the period of the snow storm – a lull ended last night by another murder – and the newspapers were demanding answers and dropping thinly veiled accusations of police incompetence.  
  
Blair looked across at Jim. He'd been the one to suggest coming here, and it was time to sit back and let him speak for himself. He wasn't going to make the same mistake – treating Jim like a dependent child – that William Ellison had made. If Jim needed help with his English, he'd let Blair know.  
  
After a slight hesitation and an almost imperceptible sideways glance, Jim said quietly “I remembered some more. About the murders.”   
  
Banks frowned. “Remembered? You're talking about the murders back in '75? I don't see how that helps. We  _know_  Mick Foster was the killer and he died in prison a couple of months ago.”  
  
“He has… had a son. Aaron. When Bud was killed…” Jim hesitated and swallowed hard. He and Blair had talked this over, and Blair knew the memories were still painful and new, even though the events were now more than twenty years in the past. He reached over and put his hand on Jim's arm.  
  
A tiny frown appeared between Jim's eyebrows and his face hardened a little. “There was a football game. Aaron was in the other team. They lost.”  
  
“I still don't see…”  
  
“I think Aaron was at the… the dump the day we went there.” Blair felt Jim's arm relax a little now that he'd got the important information out. “I think he might be…”  
  
“Okay, I get it.” Banks looked interested now. “You're sure it was him? It's been a long time, Mr Ellison, and you were both just kids.”   
  
Banks glanced at Blair, who stared back blandly. He wasn't going to start playing that game; he wasn't Jim's minder, after all.  
  
Jim shifted uncomfortably. “I'm… I think it was him.”   
  
“But you're not certain.” Banks appeared to consider the idea. “Well, I'll see if we have any ID on this guy. Could you recognise him from a photo?”  
  
“Yes.” Jim nodded decisively. He smiled his relief at Blair, who suddenly realised that Jim had left something out. Or, perhaps, hadn't realised it might be important.  
  
“Captain Banks, the man at the dump that Jim recognised? He was one of the reporters. Would that help?”  
  
Banks was already on the phone, barking orders. When he'd finished, he smiled, rather more genuinely that he had when they'd arrived. “We'll have some photos for you in a few minutes. In the meantime, can I offer you gentlemen some coffee?”  
  
***  
  
“He's not there.” Jim shook his head, sounding frustrated. “I'm sure.”  
  
“Well, that's okay, sir.” The detective, a slim, dark haired man about Blair's age smiled reassuringly. “Those were the press IDs of the reporters assigned to the case, but he might have been an independent. We've got some other photos for you to look at.”  
  
He scattered a handful of photos in front of Jim and Blair watched over his shoulder as Jim inspected each one in turn. Most of them looked like they'd been cropped and enlarged from more general crime scene photos. Jim stopped at one showing a rather scruffy man in a cloth hat, and Blair recalled him being one of the pushier reporters that day. He wasn't surprised when Jim picked it up.  
  
Jim looked up, grim satisfaction on his face. “That's him.”  
  
Detective Rafe took the photo to inspect it more closely, then turned it over. There was nothing on the back of the paper and he frowned slightly. “We don't have an ID for this one. I'll see if anything's come in for this Aaron Foster guy.”  
  
Ten minutes later they were all in Simon Banks' office listening to him growl into the phone: “So you have no record of Aaron Foster after 1976? And no records of the couple you placed him with?” His frown grew heavier as he listened to the response. “Jesus  _Christ_ , how do you lose a thirteen-year-old kid  _and_  both his foster parents?”  
  
It suddenly struck Blair that he might know the answer to that question, and his gut twisted. Glancing over at Jim, he saw the same expression of dread that he was sure showed on his own face.  
  
“The Center,” Jim whispered, and the colour drained out of his face.  
  
Rafe looked blank, but obviously, Banks had done his homework. He put the phone down slowly, without bothering with goodbyes. “I don't get it. Why would the Center be interested in a kid like Foster?”  
  
If there was one person who could answer that question, it would be Jack Kelso. Blair already had his cell phone out and was dialling his number. “Jack, it's Blair. I need anything you have on a boy named Aaron Foster in connection with the Center. He's around the same age as Jim, disappeared about the same time. His father was the Country Club Strangler. Yeah, I'll hold.”  
  
Blair smiled reassuringly at Jim, but his heart was thudding painfully against his ribs. “He was already looking into it. Got suspicious when the murders started up again. He said the timing was just too close to be coincidental. Captain, have you got a fax for Jack to send the information to?”  
  
“Here.” Banks scribbled on a piece of paper and passed it over. “Tell him I'll call him back so we can use speaker phone.”  
  
In a couple of minutes the fax started coming through and Blair unashamedly rubbernecked over Banks' broad shoulder. The information Jack had gathered made chilling reading.  
  
“His father was a serial killer, his grandfather hung himself, and Aaron was diagnosed as schizophrenic, a regular visitor at social services as an abused child. It's classic stuff, the kid never had a chance.” Blair glanced at Jim, “Schizophrenia is a mental illness, Jim. With proper treatment and medication, schizophrenics can live normal lives, but I doubt Aaron got much help at the Center.”  
  
“No. It seems like they were more interested in how they could exploit Aaron's illness.” The hollow tone to Jack's voice wasn't due entirely to the speaker. “He wasn't the only abused or mentally ill child they took – seems like they were interested in the flip side of their eugenics program too, but they never put the resources into Aaron that they did with kids like Jim.   
  
“In the mid-eighties the program was shelved, and a lot of the kids they'd taken were either dumped in mental institutions or used for low-level operations. Aaron was one of the latter, though he was too unreliable and not smart enough to let loose in the field. The fact that he's resurfaced now, and is continuing his father's killing spree…”  
  
“And involving Jim.” Blair added. “The Center's got to be behind this. First they tried to recapture him in Peru, then they tried to discredit me. Now, it looks like they've set an unstable murderer after Jim.”  
  
“I'd agree.” Jack sighed. “He's the perfect tool for a situation like this, with his medical history and a connection to Jim that doesn't directly involve the Center. He's clearly obsessed with Jim, so nobody would be surprised if he managed to harm him.”  
  
“It's certainly a damned sight too convenient for  _my_  liking.” Banks nodded at Rafe, who rose and left the office. “I'll have your apartment under police protection until we've pulled this guy in. After that… well, there's not a lot I can do, I'm afraid.”  
  
***  
  
“Are you sure you want to do this now, Jim?” Blair wasn't surprised when Jim simply opened the car door and stepped out. He closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment. “Okay, then, might as well get it over with.”  
  
They'd planned on being at the Ellison house late morning, when Jim's father was usually out of the house, but they'd spent far longer at the police station than Blair had anticipated and now it was more than likely that William Ellison would be at home. Their last visit had been decidedly uncomfortable. Mr Ellison hadn't said anything beyond the formal greetings and leave takings, but he'd radiated anger and disgust. They'd ended up leaving with only the bare minimum of Jim's belongings – toiletries and a couple changes of clothes.  
  
He followed Jim up the path, and if Jim was moving a little more stiffly than usual, Blair wasn't going to comment on that. Sally had offered to pack Jim's things, so hopefully they'd be in and out in ten minutes – and Mr Ellison wouldn't be home.  
  
The front door was open. Blair exchanged a glance with Jim. The front door was  _never_  left open. Warily, Jim pushed the door aside and they went in. The living room was deserted and there was no sound, or smell of cooking from the kitchen, so they headed towards the back of the house.  
  
There was nothing in the den, either. Some photos were scattered across the heavy oak desk but otherwise there was nothing to indicate William Ellison was at home. Blair caught at Jim's sleeve. “Can you hear anything?”  
  
Jim cocked his head, and Blair was reminded once again that Jim seemed to need to concentrate on using his senses far more than he had in Peru. “One heartbeat, fast.” He pulled away from Blair, striding quickly in the direction of the kitchen.  
  
By the time Blair caught up with him, Jim was helping a distraught Sally out of the pantry. “I heard a loud crash and he was fighting with your father, so I called the police and then I hid.”  
  
“You did the right thing, Sally.” Blair drew her away from Jim, putting an arm around her shoulder. It had to be Aaron Foster. He could see by the grim set of Jim's face that he knew it too. “Jim, you'd better check…”  
  
Jim shook his head. “There's nobody else here.”  
  
“Okay.” Together they led Sally into the living room and Blair left Jim to get her settled while he pulled out his cell phone. “Captain Banks? It's Blair Sandburg. We think Aaron Foster's taken Jim's father. We're at the house now.”  
  
“I'm already on the way.” Banks barked. “The 911 operators were told to inform me of any calls concerning Ellison. It got flagged to my attention. Rafe and Brown should be there any minute now.”  
  
Blair could tell by the cocking of Jim's head that he'd heard the conversation. He watched as Jim went towards the back of the house again, and then sat, holding Sally's hand as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.  
  
“The photos…” Jim came back into the living room, his face even grimmer. “They're from the football game. The one where Bud…”  
  
Neither of them wanted to say it in front of Sally. With a last pat of her hand, Blair stood and the two of them went into the hallway. “He wants you to come after him, but where would he have taken your dad?” As soon as he asked, he knew the answer.  
  
“Manleo Field.” Jim took hold of Blair's shoulders. He switched to Quechua. “I'm going after him. This has to end now, Blair. You stay here with Sally.”  
  
“No! Jim…” But Jim was already out of the door, running. His long legs and the easy lope of a Chopec warrior carried him swiftly from view. Reluctantly, he returned to the living room, forcing himself to smile reassuringly for Sally's sake. “The police will be here soon.”  
  
In fact, he could hear the siren now, though faintly. It was only minutes before he heard Detective Brown's voice at the door. “Sally, the police are here. I have to go after Jim. You'll be all right, won't you?”  
  
Sally nodded tearfully and Blair patted her shoulder. “Detective Brown's a good man.”  
  
He stayed only long enough to tell the detectives what had happened and then left while Brown and Rafe were still protesting. He drove to Manleo Field, knowing he'd never catch Jim, even without a minutes-long head start – he'd never been able to keep up with him in the jungle unless Jim had allowed him to.  
  
The field was empty when he arrived. Blair yelled Jim's name a couple times, but if Aaron was close, it wouldn't be safe for Jim to respond. He resolutely refused to think of any other reason why Jim wouldn't – or couldn't – answer.  
  
“ _Think_ , dammit!” Blair swept the grass with his eyes, looking for the slightest sign of Jim's passing but found nothing. After a moment his gaze was drawn to the belt of trees on the far side of the field. Those woods were the place where Jim had found Bud's body. Foster would be there for sure, but where, exactly? He trotted across the field, wishing he had sentinel senses to help him locate Jim.  
  
There were a couple of trails leading into the woods, and Blair hesitated over choosing one to follow, hoping to see some sign of recent traffic. In the end, he simply chose one, and prayed it was the right one.   
  
The trail lead deeper into the woods, and Blair was already out of sight of the playing field when he heard the snap of a twig and a muttering noise. He hurriedly grabbed a broken branch; not much of a weapon, but better than nothing.  
  
However, it was Jim who came into view, supporting his father, who stumbled alongside, his mouth and nose bloodied.   
  
“Jim! Thank god!” Blair hurried forward, going to William Ellison's side to help him. “The police won't be far now.”  
  
“Look after Dad.” Jim released his grip on his father. “I'm going to get Aaron.”  
  
“No!” Mr Ellison straightened a little. “Jimmy, let the police take care of this.”  
  
“He's right, Jim.” Blair grabbed urgently at Jim's arm and missed. “Let the police find him. The man's dangerous.”  
  
“No.” Jim took a step backward. “I have to do this.” He turned and ran back into the woods.  
  
Blair would have followed him, but it was obvious Mr Ellison was badly shaken and in no state to be left alone. They made slow, unsteady progress along the uneven track, while Blair cursed silently. It seemed an interminable time before the track came out onto the field, and they'd almost got to the end when a tall figure darkened the opening. Blair gasped, his heart pounding for a moment before he recognised Simon Banks.  
  
“Foster's back there. Jim's gone after him.”  
  
“He's  _what_?” Banks scowled, pushing past them. “Dammit, he's  _not_  a cop!  
  
“Tell me about it,” Blair said wearily to Banks' rapidly departing back. He aimed for the bench where he and Jim had sat… it seemed like an eternity ago now. William definitely needed to sit down. But they were no more than halfway there when he heard a shout.  
  
It was Jim, alone and apparently unharmed. Behind him, Banks appeared, a drooping, defeated figure held firmly by one arm, and Blair felt all of the air whoosh out of his lungs. Aaron Foster was in custody and Jim was safe. He waited, trying not to hyperventilate as Jim trotted easily across the grass.   
  
“Dad!” Jim threw his arms around his father and hugged him tightly. Blair grinned as the old man – and suddenly he seemed a lot older – returned the hug uncertainly. “I'm glad you're all right.”  
  
He moved away to give them a bit of privacy and found himself trailing behind Banks. Foster had been handed off to a couple of uniformed cops and it looked like the excitement was all over.   
  
He caught Banks' sideways glance at him. “What? What is it?”  
  
“Nothing.” Banks cleared his throat a couple times. He nodded towards Jim, walking slowly with his arm across his father's shoulders. “He handled himself pretty well. And, well… that trick he can do with the smells…”  
  
“It's no trick, captain, and it's not just scent. All Jim's senses are sharper than normal.” Blair couldn't help adding proudly, “A lot sharper.”  
  
“Do you think he'd be interested in… nah, it would take years for him to catch up on the educational qualifications.” Banks sighed. “Pity.”  
  
“I don't think he'd want to be a cop, anyway.” Blair grinned, pleased that  _somebody_  beside himself appreciated Jim's abilities. “But, you know, you could use him as a consultant, maybe.”   
  
He saw a thoughtful look in Banks eyes and said no more. Maybe something would come of it, maybe not.  
  
***  
  
 **eighteen months later…  
**  
Blair was nervous. More nervous than Jim had ever seen him, even though it was only an awards dinner. And a minor awards dinner, at that – hosted by the Cascade Trib for the local literary scene.  
  
It didn't require sentinel senses to detect his lover's frame of mind, Blair was almost  _radiating_  anxiety – the twitching fingers alternately clutching Jim's hand under the table or drumming a rapid-fire percussion on the table's edge, the restless gaze flickering around the auditorium.   
  
Jim stifled his irritation easily enough and laid a hand on Blair's arm. Wide blues eyes lifted to his and Blair's tongue flicked across his bottom lip rather enticingly.  
  
Not for the first time, it occurred to Jim that there were far better ways they could be spending the evening than sitting in a stuffy, overheated room full of people wearing assorted perfumes and after-shaves that made his eyes water.   
  
He eyed Blair hopefully. “We don't have to stay. The food's done and the speeches are boring.” It hadn't even been very good food – dry, overcooked chicken that no amount of cream sauce would moisten and something sweet for dessert – so bland that he hadn't bothered to identify it.  
  
But Blair was shaking his head emphatically, ignoring the drone of some lucky winner thanking every person who had remotely helped in the production of his book. Jim might have been living in Cascade for nearly two years now, but sometimes he still felt like he'd never understand these people.   
  
Including, on occasion, Blair. “Jim, I'm  _not_  leaving until…” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “you know… after…”  
  
“Then calm down, or  _I'll_  leave.” Someone was staring at them disapprovingly from the next table. Jim inclined his head meaningfully, saw Blair notice and finally subside. Apart from the almost imperceptible jiggling of his left leg. Jim accepted failure and tried another tack. “Have another glass of wine.”  
  
“Trying to get me drunk?” Humour banished the restlessness for a moment. Blair smiled lecherously and dropped his voice to a whisper. “If I get too drunk then how are we going to celebrate?”   
  
“I'm trying to stop you driving me crazy,” Jim retorted. “And what makes you think we'll have anything to celebrate?”  
  
Blair looked affronted. “Of  _course_  we'll…”  
  
“Then why are you so nervous?” Jim pointed out reasonably. “You've got nothing to worry about.”  
  
“Jim, Jim…” Blair sighed, “it's part of the experience. Embrace it, man!” He grinned broadly.  
  
He turned away, suppressing a small grin of his own. But the sight of his father's barely concealed disapproval helped remove any impulse to give in to Blair's enthusiasm. Even after a year and a half, his father hadn't entirely accepted his relationship with Blair, but they'd both learned the fine art of compromise. Jim didn't want to be alienated from his father, any more than William Ellison wanted to lose his oldest son again.   
  
So, they held to a tenuous truce. His father didn't criticise Blair in Jim's presence and Jim and Blair kept their relationship officially under wraps. Privately, Jim thought that anyone who knew them must realise he and Blair were together unless they were wilfully blind but nobody actually said anything.   
  
“Yeah, embrace it, Bro.” Stephen's eyes were twinkling with amusement. It had taken him a while to accept Jim and Blair's relationship, but now he simply treated Blair like another brother. “Have another drink. Loosen up.”  
  
Loosen up… another round of hearty applause gave him his opportunity. He frowned, shaking his head slightly and immediately Blair's good humour deserted him. He leaned forward, his hand gentle on Jim's arm. “You okay, Jim? Is it too loud in here?”  
  
The question wasn't unwarranted. Since Jim had been in Cascade he'd found it much more of an effort to keep his senses under control – there was a constant battering of noises and smells that he had to work to filter out in a way he'd never needed to do in the jungle. This wasn't one of those times. Still, he accepted Blair's assistance in rising from his chair, nodding apologetically to his father and brother and holding a napkin close to his mouth.  
  
Blair led him efficiently to the nearest exit, which opened into a side alley; one that was, thankfully, relatively clean. “Okay, just take some slow deep breaths and…” his squawk of surprise was effectively muted by the pressure of Jim's lips, and a moment later he was joining enthusiastically into the activities.  
  
When Jim finally drew back they were both panting. Blair grinned, “I like the way you think, man.”  
  
“Good.” He slipped his hand around the back of Blair's head and kissed him again, slow and deep and nasty. His left hand was full of napkin and he stuffed it hastily into his jacket pocket. He had other plans for that hand. When Blair began squirming against him, Jim reached with fumbling fingers for his lover's zipper.   
  
Blair grabbed his hand, holding it captive. “Oh! Oh, wow, Jim… we can't, man. The awards…”   
  
“Relax.” Jim nuzzled Blair's throat lazily. He'd take this over a dozen award ceremonies any day. “We've got plenty of time, and I'll hear when they're getting close.”  
  
Because he really didn't want Blair to miss out – and he was getting impatient anyway – Jim hurried up the action, tugging the zipper down and unbuttoning the waistband of Blair's dress pants. He felt Blair returning the favour and together they shoved their underwear down out of the way.   
  
Finally, their cocks were bare, wrapped together in his hand, and rubbing eagerly against each other as Blair's hips twitched forward. He smothered Blair's cries with his mouth, jerking them both hard and fast; Blair never could last long when they did it fast and dirty. The fluttering pulse of Blair's cock soon gave him warning, and he whipped the napkin out of his pocket and shoved it hastily between them.  
  
His own release came with a quick, hard jolt of pleasure and he leaned into Blair, panting a little and enjoying the scent of their lovemaking as it curled up warmly between their bodies. But, true to his promise, he didn't linger. Within a minute they were tidied up again and the napkin had been tucked carefully back into Jim's pocket. He'd dump it when they got back inside.  
  
A quick assessment reassured Jim that, though they were both a little rumpled, there was no actual incriminating evidence. He nodded to Blair and they headed back inside, strolling casually back into the auditorium and taking their places at the table.  
  
Just in time, too. Jim ignored Blair's sudden tension as the MC began his spiel, congratulating the nominees and slipping in some not-so-subtle endorsements of the award's sponsors.  
  
“…and the winner of the award for best work of non-fiction is…” he paused just a moment too long in a blatant attempt to ratchet up the tension, “James Ellison for  _The Sentinel of Peru_.”  
  
Jim blinked. Blair was thumping him wildly on the back and everyone was applauding. Stephen was cheering and even his father was grinning from ear to ear. As he stood, Blair came up with him, still thumping. Jim paused long enough to give him a quick hug and then headed towards the podium.  
  
All he was aware of was a vague feeling of surprise. He accepted the cheque from the MC and shook hands as the applause gradually diminished.  
  
“Uh, thank you.” Jim swallowed, gathering his wits. He really hadn't expected this and hadn't prepared for it. “I believe it's the custom, at this point, to thank friends and family and to say that I couldn't have done it without them.” There was a small ripple of amusement from the other guests and Jim relaxed a little, smiling. “In my case, that's the literal truth. When I returned to Cascade two years ago, I spoke almost no English and couldn't read or write. Thanks to my father, William Ellison, my brother, Stephen, and most of all to my partner, Blair Sandburg, I've been able to recover both the language skills and the memories that made it possible to write  _The Sentinel of Peru_.  
  
“I'd also like to thank Cyclops Corporation for the funding of this award. This prize, along with the proceeds from my book, will go towards establishing a fund to promote the study of indigenous peoples in the Amazonian rainforest in the hopes that these endangered communities can preserve their traditional ways of life.”  
  
He stepped down from the podium and headed back to his table, pausing to accept congratulations on the way, mostly from people he'd never met before. Blair was waiting for him, his eyes shining with pride and affection, and without caring what anybody would think, Jim swept him into a comprehensive hug, pressing his face against the soft, fragrant curls. The barest hint of musk from their lovemaking reached him and Jim felt his cock stir lazily.   
  
Soon, they'd go home and make love again, slowly and with passion, but for the moment he'd play the game – the one he always played in public. He was now, officially, an award winning author. He was a consultant to the Cascade PD and, once again a healer, working at the Cascade Natural Therapies Center. And if a part of him still yearned to be the healer of the Chopec, well, he had Blair to help ease that loss.

 

 


End file.
